


Princess Sibella Returns

by RCs Many Posts (Parker4131970)



Category: Early Edition, due South
Genre: Case Fic, F/M, Romance, Royalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-27 20:48:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 22,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14433783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parker4131970/pseuds/RCs%20Many%20Posts
Summary: What happens when the Princess of Morenia returns to Chicago and meets Constable Fraser and friends? Exactly how much does Meg care for Fraser? Will Sibella be jealous of Gary and the Inspector?





	1. Chapter One

_**Chicago, Illinois ...** _

McGinty's Bar lay as silent as old men watching pigeons in the park. Marissa, business partner and friend, sat beside Gary Hobson at the tall, oak bar, her sightless eyes staring vacantly ahead. Two coffee cups, each half full, released steam as their owners attended to business.

"Hey, Gary, what terrible catastrophe needs adverting today?" Chuck, Gary's other business partner in the bar and long time, best friend asked by way of greeting. The bantam entrepreneur strode up to the bar and planted himself on a stool.

"Hmm, oh, nothing major, a Canadian diplomat has a flat tire, ties up downtown for forty-five minutes, a car hits an electric pole, causing a power outage on Lake Street." The bar owner rattled off a few more, minor events.

"So, are you going to be able to watch the Bulls play tonight, Gary?" Marissa asked hopefully. She hated seeing the paper take over her friend's life as it so often did.

"Uh, yeah, I'll be here."

Instinctively she knew he'd looked up at her, away from the paper. "You still owe me five dollars from the last game." The blind woman smiled innocently.

"Double or nothing?" she temped him.

"Oh no, pay up." Gary shook his head. Folding the paper in half he stuffed it into his Wrangler's hip pocket and prepared to leave on his daily round of do-gooding. Tomorrow's news usually lead him on a merry chase all over Chicago.

"The game starts at seven, remember," Chuck called out as his friend closed the front door behind him.

********

Inspector Thatcher climbed into the long, black limo and situated the short, dark skirt of her dress. She almost envied constables Fraser and Turnbull their uniform pants. Instead of complaining, Meg Thatcher checked her flawless make-up one more time and directed Turnbull to the airport. He may not have had two brain cells to rub together but the junior Mountie at least drove better than Constable Benton Fraser.

"If I may be so inquiring, Sir, who exactly are we here to greet?" the blond Mountie asked through the rolled down partition between them.

"We are going to the airport to meet the Princess Sibella of Morenia. She's been to Chicago before, so don't over explain everything as you usually do," Thatcher warned her overzealous, junior officer.

"Understood, Sir, no over explanation. I'll keep it short and sweet." Turnbull nodded in agreement, babbling as usual. Inspector Thatcher let him ramble.

"Speed up, Constable, we have to meet her at the airport at nine o'clock, sharp." Meg slipped her compact back in her purse as the neared the exit.

"Why, if may ask, are we meeting the princess instead of someone with her country's consulate?" the subordinate Mountie asked, understandably confused.

"Canada just signed a trade agreement with Morenia. The king and the trade minister are old golf buddies so he asked that we chaperone his daughter while she's here on vacation. It seems last time she was in Chicago she slipped away from her guardians. He wants her properly guarded this time." The inspector sighed, hating the idea of being on a babysitting detail, a woman of her rank and position. Still, it was all part of the job.

"How old is the princess?" Turnbull eased the limo into the exit and merged with traffic heading toward one of the world's busiest airports.

"Twenty or so. I wasn't told exactly." Meg shrugged, her superiors never gave her the full report.

"Where is Constable Fraser?" Turnbull wondered, wishing the legendary officer had accompanied them.

"Constable Fraser is testifying in one of Det. Vecchio's case hearings." Thatcher answered as if the words were sour in her mouth. The blond Mountie took that as a hint to stop asking questions.

"Here we are, Sir." Turnbull parked the limo along the main exit for her to step out. A security team had already arrived at the airport and checked in. They stood waiting for Inspector Thatcher and the princess to meet at the terminal.

****

Gary drove the McGinty's Bar van along the street, one eye on traffic and the other scanning the street for a limo with Canadian flags waving on the antenna. Cars and trucks were bunching near a traffic light, horns blared and people craned out their windows to see what the hold up was. A tall man in a Santa red uniform waved traffic around the stretch limo. Gary turned on his flashers and edged the gray van into a parking spot. Quickly, he grabbed a tire iron and a can of Fix-A-Flat he'd bought along the way. With his usual, brisk pace the bar owner approached the Canadian Consulate's car. He could hear an annoyed, female voice as he drew close to the rear door.

"Can I help you in any way?" Gary spoke to the uniformed figure calmly directing traffic.

"No, thank you, I think I can handle traffic. We've already called for assistance." The officer smiled and motioned a Chevy pick-up on around.

"Listen, it'll take forever for anyone to get through traffic at this rate, let me help you get this taken care of." Gary persisted. He didn't hear the driver's side rear window roll down or see Princess Sibella put her head outside.

"Gary Hobson, is that you?" she called as he spoke to the officer. He whirled around and stepped back to the rear of the limo.

"Princess Sibella, good to see you." Gary peered down at the lovely, young woman as she beamed up at him.

"Your Highness, you know this man?" A woman about Gary's age asked, her voice coming from out of the shadows.

"Yes, this is Gary Hobson, he owns McGinty's Bar. We met when I was in Chicago on a world tour," Sibella answered enthusiastically. "I still have the snow globe you gave me, Gary." She shook the miniature as he grinned, one eye on the worsening traffic around them.

"Listen, your Highness, let me get this tire taken care of, then we can talk, okay." The bar owner shook the can of Fix-A-Flat before darting off to see to the wheel at the front of the black Lincoln.

"Gary Hobson is such a nice, young man. He took me to the skating rink and he showed me all over the city when I last came to Chicago," Sibella bubbled. Meg nodded and rolled down her car window. She saw Gary squat down and begin to work on the flat tire. He wore brown leather shoes, well fitting, Wrangler jeans and a maroon t-shirt under a forest green and brown flannel shirt. With his dark hair and all-American good looks he was a pleasure to behold to the Canadian liaison officer.

Just as Gary finished with the Fix-A-Flat Meg rolled her window up and returned her attention to Sibella. The young woman was bright and enthusiastic about everything. She rather reminded Meg of Turnbull.

"Alright, that should do it until you get back to the consulate." Gary dusted his hands off on his jeans.

"Thank you kindly, Mr. Hobson, wasn't it?" Meg spoke before the princess could get a word in edgewise.

"You're welcome, ah," He searched for the woman's name as she scooted closer to the open window. Her dark eyes were striking as she looked up at him through thick, dark lashes, a coy smile playing over her full lips.

"Inspector Meg Thatcher." She supplied, her voice purring slightly.

"Inspector Thatcher, you're welcome," he repeated her name. Gary thought for a moment of asking her to stop by McGinty's but thought it would be rude to ask her out and ignore Sibella, so he didn't ask either. He had a suspicion he'd be seeing both ladies again before too long anyway.

"Drive safely." He bid them farewell, standing on the sidewalk. The limo merged into traffic slowly. Gary watched it disappear around a corner before returning to the van.

********

**Author's Note:**  Set after Early Edition, Season Two,  _"Romancing the Throne"_


	2. The Invitation

 

_**To speak kindly does not hurt the tongue. French Proverb** _

"I'm telling you, Fraser, that DA's got it out for you. She'd like to nail your red hide to the wall on one of our cases," Ray Vecchio groused as he walked to the emerald green, 1972, Buick Riviera he loved.

"Nonsense, Ray, District Attorney Lamonte was simply doing her duty, making sure the case was solid." The Canadian Mountie opened the door to the American classic, his Stetson in his hand.

"You are so blind, Fraser, you're as blind as your wolf is deaf." Ray started the engine, the car motor purring like a contented kitten, and backed out of the space in the underground parking structure.

"Oh, Ray, would you care to drive me to the consulate, we have a very important guest arriving this morning," Fraser asked, his stomach tightening at the thoughts of another chaperoning assignment.

"Who, royalty or celebrity?" the Chicago detective asked as he negotiated the dark, twisting, turning labyrinth called an underground parking structure. More like cement hell is what Ray considered them.

"Royalty actually, Princess Sibella of Morenia, she's come to Chicago on vacation." Fraser answered, thinking about the small country he'd recently researched.

"Why Chicago, she could probably take off to Monte Carlo or Aspen," the detective puzzled.

"Chicago is a lovely city, there are museums, restaurants, theaters and a variety of historical attractions," Fraser replied. Ray gave him a skeptical look.

"Are you a Mountie or a Chicago tour guide?" Ray wise cracked. The detective couldn't make up as much stuff as Fraser knew for a fact.

"Ray, don't be preposterous." The bickering session was on.

"I'll see you later, Fraser, come to dinner tonight if you want," Ray offered as he pulled up to the curb, knowing his mother wouldn't mind one more around the table, especially someone so polite.

"Thank you kindly, Ray, but I'll be on duty." Fraser grinned, kinda glad to dodge the Francesca bullet. Ray pulled away from the curb and faded into Chicago traffic. Ben pulled on his hat and took the consulate steps two at a time. Quietly, he walked down the hall and into the sitting room.

"Ah, Constable Fraser, allow me to introduce you to Princess Sibella of Morenia." Inspector Thatcher ushered her subordinate officer into the large room. Turnbull served a light, breakfast tea and muffins.

"I am pleased to meet you, Constable, the Inspector was telling me about your deaf wolf." The young lady smiled, her blue eyes warming to sapphire. She reminded Fraser of a ballerina he'd seen once on a school trip to a production of the _Nutcracker._ The princess's willowy figure and porcelain complexion lent itself to the image.

"The pleasure is mine, your Highness." Fraser went through the motions of royal formality and protocol. "I'll have to persuade Diefenbaker to come to the consulate before your trip is over."

"Oh, would you, I've never seen a wolf except in a zoo." Sibella set her tea down on the able near the couch. "They have such wise faces, don't you think?" Fraser had never thought of them as wise.

"Yes, Ma'am, now that you mention it." Fraser took the tea cup and saucer Turnbull offered but declined the muffin.

"Inspector Thatcher also told me you spend your spare time working with a detective from the city's police department." The princess seemed to bounce from subject to subject.

"Yes, Ma'am, I began working with Det. Ray Vecchio when I came to Chicago in search of the men who killed my father," Before he could begin the lengthy story of how he came to the Windy City, Meg jumped into the conversation.

"Constable, we were nearly back to the consulate this morning when we had a flat on the consulate car. A gentleman stopped to help us with it, Princess Sibella wishes to invite him to dinner here at the consulate tomorrow evening, would you care to deliver the invitation for her?" The inspector's eyes told him to agree quickly or face a week's worth of sentry duty.

"Yes, Sir." The Mountie took the white envelope his boss handed him.

"Constable Turnbull and I will escort Princess Sibella to the Chicago Hilton while you deliver the invitation, when you return to the consulate call the caterers." Inspector Thatcher informed the more trustworthy of the two Mounties. Together the inspector and the princess laid out the dinner menu, Fraser taking notes. He knew it was going to be an eventful vacation, mostly for him and not Princess Sibella.

********

**McGinty's Sports Bar and Grill ...**

Chuck sat at the bar, drinking coffee and working on the grocery order for the next two weeks. A sports caster blathered on about the week's highlights. The bantam business man wasn't listening. When the door opened he didn't look up, he just called out,

"Hello, welcome to McGinty's." Robin, the barmaid, walked into the dining area, a smile spreading across her comely features. It wasn't every day she saw a Royal Canadian Mounted Police officer walk into the bar, and a handsome one too.

"What can I get for you?" she greeted him as he stepped farther along the wood paneled bar. Rich browns and red mingled with the dim light to invite guests to come in and rest among the polished furniture and cozy atmosphere.

"Yes, I'm Constable Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Is there a Gary Hobson here?" The Mountie doffed his hat and looked from Robin to Chuck. It didn't take the businessman long to lay down his pen and turn to his guest.

"Chuck, ah,  _Charles_  Fishman, proprietor of this establishment," Chuck put out his hand for Fraser to shake, a mistake. "Gary's gone on an errand, is there something I can help with?" Fraser shook the man's hand with his usual, robust grip. Chuck felt like a vice had been tightened around his right hand. He thanked God he was left handed.

"I have an invitation from Princess Sibella of Morenia to dine at the Canadian Consulate tomorrow evening." Fraser pulled the invitation from inside his hat.

"I'll make sure Gary gets it if you'd like to leave it with me." Chuck tried to massage his hand without being obvious about it.

"Leave what with you, Chuck?" A deep voice asked from the front door.

"The Mountie says he has an invitation for you." Chuck enunciated. Fraser turned to face the man.

"Gary Hobson?" Fraser met him halfway across the tongue-in-groove, hardwood floor.

"Yeah, that's me. Something I can do for you?" Gary tried to think of why a Mountie would show up at the bar.

"Princess Sibella of Morenia sent you this." He handed the invitation over.

"Oh, for helping with the flat tire this morning." Gary put the newspaper under his arm as he opened the envelope. Fraser began to turn away, ready to head back to the consulate when he felt something brush his leg. Curling around his boots was a yellow, short haired cat. It looked up at him and meowed loudly. Gary and Chuck exchanged knowing glances. The cat didn't usually take an immediate liking to strangers.

"Would you like a cup of coffee, Constable Fraser?" Chuck offered.

"Thank you kindly, but no." Without another word the Mountie left the bar.

"What was that all about, Gary?" Chuck's eyes danced with interest.

"Yeah, and are they going to send the handsome Mountie back here?" Robin leaned on the bar, a dreamy smile on her face as she looked off toward the door.

"Haven't you got something to do in the back?" Gary groused at the starry eyed waitress. With a sigh she left her bosses to their private conversation.

"The flat tire this morning was the consulate car. The paper didn't say anything about Princess Sibella being in town. I had no idea." Gary laid the paper on the bar as he finally read the invitation. Fine, flowery handwriting danced across the heavy card stock.

**You are invited to dinner at the Canadian Consulate Thursday evening at seven o'clock.**

**Cordially, Sibella ~**

Gary's eyes lingered on the signature at the bottom of the snow white paper.

"She's got it bad for you, Gary." Chuck elbowed his long time fiend. He just waved him off. Gary hadn't told him he and Sibella had kissed as they looked out at the skyline as the sunset. The princess was beautiful, intelligent and fun to be around. She was also quite a bit younger and a foreign royal, as if the paper weren't enough of a deterrent.

"Another girl's fallen in love with Gary?" Marissa let Spike lead her into the bar.

"Do you remember that princess that stowed away in the van earlier this year?" Chuck started the story.

"She's, is she back in Chicago?" The black woman's smile lit the room as she took a seat at the bar.

"Yep," Chuck popped the P, teasing his friend, "Gary saved her from a flat tire this morning." He laid it on thick.

"Lay off, I didn't know the princess was in the car. How could I, this thing only tells me so much." Gary smacked the paper in annoyance.

"If you say so, Gary." Marissa smiled mischievously. Gary couldn't win for losing with his friends and he knew it.

********


	3. Scheduling Issues

Gary followed where the paper led, helping someone here, averting disaster there. He's been at it for two years and had been on some merry chases. Changing the consulate car's flat tire was the easiest save of the average Joe's day. Dragging in at six-thirty, Gary headed to the kitchen for something to eat, he'd missed lunch.

"Hey, Gary, are you ready to watch the game tonight?" Marissa asked as her friend sat down at the desk, a roast beef sandwich in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.

"Yeah, just let me eat first." From the smell of the sandwich he'd put mayonnaise, dill pickles, onion, and melted Swiss cheese on the toasted wheat bread.

"What are you wearing to the consulate tomorrow night?" Leave it to Marissa to go for the style jugular.

"My brown suit." Gary wracked his memory, picturing his wardrobe. Lately it was more jeans and t-shirts than Brooks' Brothers suits.

"Wear the blue." Gary stopped chewing his sandwich to stare at the blind woman staring blankly in his general direction.

"Wait, how, did you ... ?" Gary began stammering. She'd been blind since she was eighteen months old.

"Robin said you look great in your Bears football sweatshirt." Marissa grinned. She could just see him, dark brows raised and mouth formed into a perfect circle. Just because the third partner couldn't see didn't mean she didn't have ears. Sometimes the kitchen and serving staff forgot that.

"Oh, she did, did she?" Gary saw the laughter bubbling in his friend's smile.

"Come on, Gary, you're single, she's young and impressionable," Marissa spelled it out, "that's life, she's got a crush on you." Gary shook his head. He was tired of being the object of young women's crushes. It was flattering but it got old -- fast. He wanted a grown woman, someone who would speak her mind, knew the score, someone who wouldn't get doe eyed and dreamy.

"Let's go watch the game." Gary began eating his roast beef sandwich, grabbing his coffee and leaving the office. He brushed past Chuck on his way out, nearly bowling over the unsuspecting businessman.

*******

Sibella walked around the Hilton suite looking at the décor and then at the view of Chicago below. Her luggage arrived before she did. It was a relief to be in the Windy City without her chaperones, Vesti and Antonia, hovering around her. They meant well but someone making every move you did was exhausting. While in Chicago Sibella did have a few royal duties to attend to but mostly it was a vacation for her. Her father's sweeping modernization had kept the whole royal family busy with meetings, functions and tours. Together they'd decided to take turns having vacations. Sibella took hers first.

"Your Highness, I have your schedule for your stay." Turnbull handed her a printed itinerary of events and sights around the historic city. She skimmed them, happy to see there would be a basketball game and skating excursions besides the ball at Chicago's Museum of Art where she would be presenting the Morenian Relic her country had graciously loaned. It was good publicity and would allow her to talk to many influential people who would be helpful in investing in Morenian modernization.

"Thank you, Constable Turnbull." The princess looked up at the lanky, junior Mountie with an open smile. She received one in return. Something about his sky blue eyes and the way he looked at her with such simple pleasure made Sibella blush.

"It's my pleasure, Your Highness." The constable's voice rumbled low as he nodded.

"Your Highness, is there anything you need before I leave for the consulate?" Inspector Thatcher asked, invading the mood of the two younger people.

"Oh, no, thank you, it's been a long journey and all I want is to rest and speak with my parents." Sibella turned wistful as she thought of her mother and father half a world away.

"Here is my number at the consulate and my cell phone number, Constable Turnbull will be on guard in the hallway. Don't hesitate to call if you need anything." Meg hoped the young lady wouldn't bother her. She drew Constable Turnbull into the hallway and gave him instructions not to let the princess slip out of the hotel. With a warning glare, Meg left for the consulate. There were a thousand things to be done before dinner the next evening. For a moment she wondered if babysitting a royal was harder than seeing to a child. With a shrug the lady Mountie put the thought out of her head and went on with her busy day.

********

Fraser had been on hold for the last half hour listening to crummy elevator music. He'd rather be doing anything else than arranging a dinner for foreign royalty but he'd never say a word to that effect. Without warning the music stopped and a male voice spoke.

"Yes, this is Constable Fraser of the Canadian Consulate, I'm calling to schedule a dinner party for tomorrow at seven o'clock, would you be available?" Ben asked politely, having asked three other such caterers the same thing with no success. Twenty-four hours was not enough advance notice to book a caterer in Chicago.

"Ha! You must be joking, Mister, if you wanted dinner tomorrow you shoulda called three months ago," the man on the other end scoffed.

"Yes, well, I know last moment is inconvenient but it's for the Princess of Morenia." Fraser tried name dropping.

"Never heard of her and wouldn't care if she were the Queen of Sheba, I've got a hundred mini quiches to prepare for a shindig tomorrow at five, I can't help you, sorry," the caterer answered flatly.

"Perhaps you would know of another catering service that would be available?" Fraser asked, short on time and patience.

"Yeah, I got a cousin who runs a place, let me give you his number, it's McGinty's Bar, he's done a few gigs, weddings, birthdays, that sort of thing." The Mountie could hear the man rummaging nearby. "Here it is," He gave Ben the number and told him to ask for Chuck. The Mountie smiled to himself, one thumb smoothing his eyebrow as he wrote the phone number down dutifully. It was worth a try.

"Thank you kindly." Fraser hung up the phone and sighed. Quickly, he picked up the received and dialed McGinty's.

"McGinty's how may I help you?" a bright, young, female voice asked on the second ring.

"Hello, is Chuck Fishman in, please?"

"Just a moment," She paused, "Is this the Mountie that was in here this morning?" He could hear the curious smile in her voice.

"Yes, Ma'am, it is, Constable Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police." He barely quelled a sigh. He'd had more women show blatant interest in him since moving to Chicago than in the thirty-odd years previous.

"Robin, who's on the phone?" A loud, male voice asked from the background.

"The hot Mountie from this morning." She held her hand over the mouth piece but not well enough.

"Gimme that." he spoke in annoyance. "Hello, Chuck Fishman speaking, what can I do for you?" he asked. Fraser knew he heard dollar signs.

"Constable Fraser here, I know it's short notice but I'm looking for a caterer for tomorrow evening, another caterer recommended you." Ben hoped that helped.

"Let em check my schedule," Chuck shuffled some papers on the desk, a delaying tactic. "Oh yes, we've just had an opening for tomorrow, what time?" Chuck and Fraser spent the next hour discussing the menu, serving staff, budget and other, sundry details for the evening. When the Mountie finally hung up the phone his ear rang with the smug sound of Chuck's voice. He shook his head to clear his eardrums of the noise.

"Constable, are the arrangements made?" Inspector Thatcher popped her head into his closet sized office.

"Yes, Sir, I just finished speaking with the caterer." He stood as she entered, his posture ramrod straight.

"Good, have you made the flower arrangements?" She eyed him, her dark eyes narrowed.

"On it, Sir." Fraser picked up the phone and began searching his Rolodex for the florists' number. Thatcher simply nodded and walked away. Ben let out the deep breath he'd taken, glad to see her go but loving watching her leave. Even he noticed a certain sashay to her natural gait. He doubted she did it on purpose.

********

**Author's Note:** Thank you computer Solitaire for alleviating my writer's block.

 


	4. Get Crackin'

 

Above McGinty's ...

"Good morning, Chicago, it's six-thirty and a beautiful day, in sports ..." the newscaster blathered on about a professional basketball players' upcoming contract when Gary slapped the offending alarm off. Just as he rolled over he heard Cat meow loudly and the sound of the paper hitting the front door. Gary growled and dragged himself out of bed. His dark hair lay spiked at the crown and his white t-shirt had bunched up around his shoulders. Barely moving, he pulled down one leg of his jogging pants. Cat looked up at him expectantly, as if he should have opened the door for him sooner.

"Good morning to you, too." Gary groused as he read the  _Chicago Sun-Times_  headlines. After surveying the front page he went to take a shower, preparing for a day of train derailments and overturned chicken trucks.

Down in the bar Marissa and Chuck arrived to the smell of a fresh pot of coffee. Gary sat at the bar perusing the paper, a cup of coffee handy and a cinnamon bun handy.

"Hello, Gary, what's the plan for today?" Marissa greeted him, Spike, her seeing-eye-dog at her side.

"You're going to love this." Gary pursed his lips and handed the paper to Chuck.

"Morenian Relic, on loan to the Chicago Museum of Arts stolen from the Hilton's safe." Chuck announced aloud.

"The Princess strikes again." Marissa laid her jacket over the bar and perched on a bar stool.

"Yep, I found this after I showered and got dressed." The Early Edition carrier took the paper from Chuck before he could turn to the sports page.

"Wow, Gary, this looks like an inside job, how are you going to pull this one off?" It never ceased to amaze Chuck how his best friend managed to pull his fat out of the fryer so often.

"No idea, I can't go to the police, they'll think I'm in on the robbery." Shaking his head, Gary took a sip of his coffee.

"Maybe you can persuade the princess to take the relic out of the safe for the night." Marissa suggested.

"I won't see her until tonight at dinner, that's when the police think the relic goes missing." Gary gritted his teeth as he re-read the article for the fifth time.

"Go to the hotel, tell Princess Sibella about the paper, she'll understand." Chuck gave Gary a skeptical glance.

"She's under guard, there are Canadian Mounties posted outside her hotel room." Gary answered, "besides, the two of you knowing is enough, she's just a kid, how am I going to explain the paper to her, Oh, yeah, by the way, I get tomorrow's news every morning and it comes with a cat." He griped the same old gripe. The paper was a great responsibility, one which Gary carried alone.

"Yeah, that'd be a great way to start off." Marissa griped back at him. Gary gave her a perturbed look and drank his coffee.

"Did you have your blue suit dry cleaned yet?" The blind lady asked, changing the subject, but not by much.

"No, not yet." The paper carrier answered like a petulant child.

"Then get crackin' my friend, princesses don't wait for just any frog." Chuck's attempt at humor went over like a lead balloon.

*******

 


	5. Dinner

 

 

_**Common sense is in spite of, not the result of, education. ~ Victor Hugo** _

The next morning at the consulate Fraser had his check-list on a clip board as he met the florist's van near the front door. Two women in yellow polo shirts with  _Chicago Rose_  embroidered on the right and their name tags on the left hustled into the brick building carrying sprays of yellow roses with lilac bosoms and pink dogwood flowers. The fragrance lingered in the air as Fraser signed the purchase invoice on the front stoop.

"Thank you kindly, ladies, have a good day." The Mountie spoke as he pushed a number two pencil behind his ear before handing the yellow slip of paper to the florist whose name tag said Rose. She gave him a once-over, waved and smiled before climbing into the delivery van to leave.

"Alright, next is the dry cleaners for the table linen, then it's the caterers." It wasn't lost on Fraser that Gary Hobson's business was catering the dinner he'd been invited to attend. He shook his head, that's just the way life went sometimes.

"Constable Fraser," He heard Inspector Thatcher's voice as he closed the front door. Wordlessly, he walked to her office, clipboard in hand.

"Yes, Sir." He stood awaiting instructions, his face emotionless. He could hear her glasses clattering as she held them in her lap, hiding them. As usual, the inspector's desk was well organized and efficient.

"Relieve Turnbull at the Hilton, the princess is attending a concert at a high school this afternoon and you're better with children." Thatcher's wine red lips pursed at the thoughts of the junior Mountie interacting with streetwise, Chicago teenagers.

"Yes, Inspector Thatcher, I'll have him pick up the table linens on his way back to the consulate." She nodded dismissively and returned to her work. Looking up as he left, she sighed. It was tiresome and lonely being boss of the consulate everyday. Meg was bored with the constraints of protocol and propriety within the RCMP. She stopped to think of Gary Hobson for a moment. He was a breath of fresh air. She looked forward to dinner later just to see him, get to know him a little better. Again, she sighed, Princess Sibella would be there, chattering away like a young magpie. Still, at least the view would be different.

*******

The Chicago Hilton glittered like a jeweled pendant along the city's necklace of buildings. Spring sunshine warmed the sidewalk outside the high dollar establishment. Gary walked briskly up to the doorman and breezed on through the glass entrance. He proceeded up the elevator and got off on the second floor. He searched the halls as discretely as possible, looking for the suite guarded by big, red, Canadian RCMP officers. There he knew he'd find Princess Sibella. On the tenth floor he saw an officer standing like a statue outside the door, his light complexion and blonde hair with the antiquated dress uniform were like something out of a recruiting poster.

"Is this Princess Sibella's suite?" Gary asked, his newspaper in his hand.

"Who may I ask is calling?" The officer asked his voice cheerful.

"Gary Hobson, she knows me." He shifted nervously.

"Ah, yes, the gentleman coming to dinner tonight at the consulate." A bright smile split the Mountie's face.

"Yeah, that's me, listen, I need to talk to Princess Sibella, it's very important." Gary hesitated telling the Mountie anything more.

"I'm afraid that's impossible, Mr. Hobson, the princess is preparing for a previous engagement this afternoon."

Gary looked at his watch, calculating how much time he had before the Morenian Relic went missing.

"Okay. What do you know about the Morenian Relic the princess is supposed to loan to the museum day after tomorrow?" The bar owner began, knowing the Mountie wasn't about to let him see Sibella before dinner.

"The relic is a rare gemstone, a blood red garnet, the size of a child's fist also called the Heart of Morenia. It's reported to be the source of the country's good fortune. The first king, King Eleck, found the stone in the mountains in the eleventh century AD. Garnet comes in a lot of colors; red, orange, green, pink raspberry- burgundy even color change from blue to pink garnet and brown-ish red. The deep red garnet has a purple raspberry undertone are rhodolite. The ruby like garnets are even more rare, they're called ant hill garnets because basically the ants pick the garnets out of their nests. I would hate to see the ants that carried the Heart of Morenia!" Amusement faded from the constable's face when he looked at an annoyed Gary. He searched for a name on the brass tag on his uniform.

"Constable Turnbull," he said unsure of the odd name, "it is Turnbull isn't it?" Gary interrupted before the Mountie could get another word in edgewise. The Mountie nodded.

"I mean, what do you know about where it's kept, is it safe, does anyone object to the Morenian government loaning the stone, that kind of thing." Gary saw that he had to speak slowly and specifically with this one.

"Oh, the stone is quite safe here in the hotel safe. We've had a team of experts inspect the safe prior to the princess' arrival. It's as safe as your Fort Knox." Turnbull smiled a broad, self-satisfied grin. Before Gary could try another tack he heard the elevators at the opposite end of the hall open. Out stepped Constable Fraser. Gary hurried to meet the more mature and hopefully more understanding Mountie in the middle of the hall.

"Constable Fraser, I need to see Princess Sibella, it's very important." He tried again. Fraser looked at the obviously anxious man standing before him. The way he clasped his newspaper and spoke quickly gave the Mountie reason to pause.

"Princess Sibella is on her way to a concert at the Horace Greeley High School. What's this all about?" Gary saw a ray of hope.

"I have reason to believe someone is going to steal the Morenian Relic tonight while she's at the consulate." The bar owner braced for the questions he knew where coming.

"Why haven't you reported this to the Chicago authorities?" Fraser began racking his brain for any hint of trouble. He sensed the bar owner was telling the truth as he knew it to be.

"Well, they don't usually," Gary paused, not wanting to explain himself. "You've got to check on the relic, right now, post a guard or something." His resolute tone told Fraser that if he didn't do something Gary would. For a moment the Mountie studied his boots. He had two choices, ask Turnbull to check on the relic or do it himself. Fraser cast his eyes at the guileless Mountie standing proudly at the hotel suite's door. He'd have to do it himself.

"Constable Turnbull, I'm going to walk down to the manager's office with Mr. Hobson. Knock on the door and ask the princess if she's ready to attend the concert. Stay with her until I return." Fraser turned smartly on his heel and led the way to the elevators at the end of the hall.

After he'd stepped into the elevator Gary checked his watch then he checked the article in the paper detailing the theft of the relic. Nothing about the article had changed. He felt the usual worry begin.

"Mr. Hobson, what leads you to believe the relic is going to be stolen this evening?" Fraser asked, his voice level.

"Call me Gary," He shifted from one foot to the other, his well worn tennis shoes treading silently on the carpet. "I, well, I overheard someone talking about it, that's how I know." Again, Gary checked his watch then looked at the newspaper. Fraser studied him carefully in the stainless steel elevator door's reflective surface. Gary was difficult to get an accurate read on. Fraser let it pass, stranger things had happened.

"Is there somewhere you have to go, Gary?" the Mountie asked when the man checked his watch again before they reached the ground floor.

"Oh, a city cop is going to hit a telephone pole on Maple Street while girl watching in thirty-five minutes," Gary mumbled as he re-read the article. Fraser wondered if he'd heard correctly but hesitated to ask.

The florescent light overhead blurred the reflection as it slid open to reveal the lobby of the Chicago Hilton. Elegance of the highest sort lay before them. The air was fresh and slightly scented with lemon Pledge. Afternoon sunshine glistened in the distance beyond the dark maroon carpet and navy blue carpet. The lobby had the usual reproduced paintings on the wall, gold light fixtures and potted plants scattered around the seating area where people passed through the cavernous, marble space. Fraser walked up to the counter and gave the receptionist a polite smile. Gary stepped up beside the uniformed Canadian.

"Is the manager in at the moment please?" The red headed receptionist straightened her blue uniform blouse and tentatively smoothed her shoulder length locks. Two, tall, handsome men stood before her and neither of them had rings on their left hands. That thought brightened the young woman's day.

"Yes, Mr. Callahan just came back from lunch. Let me call him for you." The redhead smiled sweetly as she surveyed the sharp dressed Canadian.

"Thank you kindly." Fraser watched the woman watch him for an awkward moment. When he began to fidget she took the hint and dialed the manager.

Mr. Callahan walked out of the office beyond the reception area. He was a man of average height and less than average hair. A tight, but polite smile pulled at the fifty-something hotel manager's moon face.

"How may I help you, Constable?" Callahan asked as he patted the navy and aqua tie streaming down his middle age paunch.

"We came to see the vault where the Morenian Relic is kept," Fraser asked smartly, his keen eye surveying the lobby. Nothing seemed out of order.

"Yes, right this way, Constable, ah, Constable Fraser." The manager turned and led them into his office.

********


	6. Sibella Overhears

 

The Hilton...

Sibella looked at the dress she was to wear to dinner one last time before leaving her hotel suite. The jade green material felt soft to her fingers as she fingered the silvery lace along the collar of the short cocktail dress. A silver filigree design swirled around the bodice and spread across the skirt. The princess wished she could have worn the sparkling, silver stilettos she's seen in the catalog she'd ordered the gown from, but her mother had insisted she go with modest pumps.

With a sigh, Sibella closed the wardrobe door and gathered her handbag and hat. Standing at the full length mirror she pinned the baby blue hat accentuate with a white rose bud and broad, ivory colored band. Her matching, baby blue skirt suit made her look like an old lady but she knew her parents wanted pictures taken at every event. If she were to wear something younger they'd disapprove.

"It shall just have to do." Sibella spoke as she frowned at her reflection. The princess opened the door and saw Turnbull still standing outside her hotel suite's door. A pleasant smile pulled at the young royal's lips and a thrill wound through her system.

"Good afternoon, Constable Turnbull." Sibella spoke softly, her cultured accent softening the vowels.

"Ah, Your Highness, good afternoon." He pulled off his hat and gave a small bow as he took her in from the nude pumps to the rose bud on her hat. "Constable Fraser is downstairs in the lobby inspecting the hotel vault with Mr. Hobson." The forthright Canadian informed her.

"Oh, is there a problem with the vault?" A small frown pulled between the princess' brows.

"Mr. Hobson seems to think the relic is going to be stolen this evening while you're having dinner at the consulate." Turnbull shrugged.

"Gary has a habit of being in the right place at the right time." Sibella began telling Turnbull about her previous stay in Chicago and how Gary had saved a mother and daughter from live power lines on their car and how he caught a hockey puck before it struck a woman's head at the ice rink. She took the arm he offered and they walked down the hall to the elevators talking easily.

In the lobby Gary and Fraser stood just inside the manager's office. Gary shifted from one foot to the other as she watched him. He stood shoulder to shoulder with Fraser. Sibella wondered how alike the two men were underneath their differences.

"Your Highness, allow me to ask Constable Fraser if he wishes to escort you to the concert." Turnbull took his leave of the princess at the door. When the younger Mountie tapped Fraser on the shoulder he turned to see what he wanted. Sibella watched the conversation although she couldn't hear what they said. Fraser nodded after listening for a moment then turned to look at the princess, a polite nod passing between them.

Two men, one smaller and more wiry, the other tall and broad built, walked into the hotel lobby and took a seat on one of the couches near the registration desk. They surveyed the elegant interior silently. The smaller of the two, a dark haired, dark eyed fellow, pulled out an ink pen and began doing the crossword puzzle in the previous Sunday's  _Chicago Sun-Times_ , his eyes darting from place to place. Sibella noticed the men's suits. They didn't look like anything she'd seen in Chicago, instead reminding her of the handiwork of one of Morenia's southern provinces. The hand stitching was miniscule along the seams, smaller than any machine's work, and the buttons were fastened on with a crisscross design. The princess edged closer to the men, her view still on the manager's office.

"Anton, the manager is showing the Canadian's the Heart of Morenia, they suspect something." The broader man spoke in Croatian to the dark fellow beside him.

"Nonsense, Yakov, those silly Canadian's are simply doing their duty, nothing more, now calm down before you give us away. Our help on the inside has already set up the vault for us." The smaller man brushed off his partner's anxiety. Sibella almost gasped when she overheard the conversation. She moved toward the manager's office, trying not to draw attention to herself.

"Ah, Your Highness, I was just coming to escort you to the limo." Constable Fraser had turned and stepped away from the manager. Gary waved and smiled as he watched Fraser escort Sibella deeper into the hotel lobby.

"Yes, we shall be fashionably late as it is." She somehow gave the constable a composed smile and took his arm. "I had hoped to talk to you about something." Sibella looked up at the reserved, darkly handsome Canadian, her blue eyes meeting his.

"Is there anything the matter, Your Highness?" Fraser asked, breaking the gaze as he led her to the hotel's VIP parking through the back of the hotel. It wasn't as glamorous as the front entrance but the VIP parking structure was heavily guarded and monitored to insure that important visitors were safe from prying eyes of the public or the media.

"Yes, while I was waiting for you I overheard two men talking, they said something about the Canadian's suspecting something and inside help having already set the vault up." She stopped to talk as Fraser opened the door to the Canadian limo.

"Did they mention names, Your Highness?" Fraser's eyes narrowed slightly as he studied the young woman. He thought it possible she'd overheard something and misunderstood the meaning.

"Yes, the smaller, dark haired man called the other one Yakov and the taller one was Anton." Sibella sat down in the plush interior, her blue eyes imploring the Mountie to believe her.

"I'll have Constable Turnbull look into the matter, Ma'am, don't worry, the Relic is safe." Fraser smiled reassuringly.

"What do you know of Constable Turnbull?" Sibella's smile changed to a dazzling array of curiosity. Fraser was taken aback for a moment. He'd never thought of Turnbull having an amorous admirer.

"Constable Turnbull, Ma'am?" He stalled for time to think. "Constable Renfield Turnbull is well," Fraser just couldn't think of anything. "Well, Your Highness, Turnbull and I haven't served together very long." It was the best the Mountie could do.

"Hmm, thank you, Constable Fraser." Sibella's blue eyes narrowed, determined to find out more about the lanky, bashful Canadian. Fraser saw the gleam in her eye.

********

Meg Thatcher paid the dry cleaner for her dinner dress, her dark eyes shining as she looked at the deep wine colored dress. She couldn't wait until she could slip the wrap around sheath for dinner. The inspector planned on showing her best side tonight. Fraser had become blasé to her charms, but maybe Gary Hobson wasn't. That though alone was worth the exorbitant price the dry cleaner charged for her dress.

"Thank you kindly, Mr. Adams." Meg smiled at the fifty-something gentleman running the register. With a satisfied smile the lady Mountie walked out into the early afternoon sunshine. Her next stop was the jewelers where she'd had her best, antiques cleaned.

********

Dinner at the consulate began promptly at seven o'clock. Gary began preparations at five-thirty, showering, shaving, shining his shoes, and so forth. An hour later the bar owner looked like a model for a men's wear catalog. Standing straight, looking in the mirror, his reflection showed a tall, broad shouldered man in his thirties, which were treating him well. Gary's dark blue suit fit better than it had last time he'd worn it, to his divorce lawyers' office. He'd worked hard since then, saving babies, running down purse thieves, and generally trying to be in two places at once. The Paper's schedule kept Gary slim and trim.

"Gary, buddy, you ready to leave yet?" Chuck knocked on the frosted glass door. Gary let him in as he tried to fasten his left cuff link.

"Well, look at the Prince of Chicago, nice." The bantam businessman examined his old buddy.

"Thanks, Chuck, are you going to drive me over to the Canadian Consulate?" Gary slid the silver cuff link into place and twisted the post parallel to the engraved flat. They'd been an anniversary present from his parents. The cuff links had lasted longer than his marriage.

"Yeah, I'm ready when you are, we'd better get going." Chuck rubbed his hands together as he thought about the expensive dinner they'd prepared.

"Has the kitchen staff delivered dinner yet?" Gary adjusted his silver striped, cerulean tie.

"Yes, half an hour ago, don't worry, Gary, we've got this dinner under control." Despite Chuck's reassurance, Gary still felt a sense of impending disaster. The Paper article on the Relic heist had disappeared, but things still had a way of going badly.

"Okay, Chuck, let's go." Gary grabbed his overcoat and the Paper; his constant companion. He felt like he was forgetting something but couldn't think of what.

********

**Author's Note:**  Pure Country- Kyle Chandler- "Buddy Jackson" Don't ask why it's there, just accept it. 


	7. Different Directions

  **Meg's Apartment ...**

Meg checked her reflection one more time before leaving her apartment. She's had to rush getting ready far more than she preferred but if she wasn't at the consulate to run the show it wouldn't get done. Butterflies in her stomach threatened to overwhelm her as she called for a cab. The thought of seeing Gary again brought a school girl giggle surging upward. When a Gemini cab pulled up to the curb Meg's giggle died away.

"Where to, lady?" a man with a heavy, European accent asked over his shoulder.

"To the Canadian Consulate, please," the inspector answered as she settled into the worn, gray, cloth seat. She didn't notice the photograph in the display before her or that the name attached to it was Arabic.

"Right away." The driver pulled away from the curb.

********

"Fraser, there's nothing happening around this vault, and after the bank vault we were locked in I'm not goin' anywhere near it, understand?" Ray spoke into his cellular phone as he sat in the surveillance booth in the Hilton.

"I hear you, Ray, but between what Princess Sibella overheard and Gary Hobson's insistence, I have to consider that something may well happen," Fraser responded as he re-read his to-do list for the thousandth time that day. Sometimes working at the consulate was so tedious the woodsman could just scream. That kind of attitude simply wouldn't do; it wouldn't change anything and it was most unbecoming behavior from an RCMP officer.

"Yeah, but Benny, I've been sitting here all evening and it's been nothing but regular guests coming and going, maybe a few high-dollar hookers with a few senators but that's about the extent of traffic here," the detective groused.

"Ray, I would appreciate it if you watched the vault containing the Morenian Relic for the evening, until I can arrange a Canadian detail tomorrow," Fraser implored the Italian descendant detective.

"I will, I'm just saying, you're worrying for no reason," Ray persisted.

"Ray, my father always said, and so did my grandmother, that an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure." Fraser gave it right back to him. He didn't have time to arrange a proper detail, or much else for that matter.

"Okay, Fraser, but you owe me one for this," the detective reminded him. Fraser agreed and hung up. There were still things to do on the Mountie's list.

********

Sibella sighed when she got back to the hotel and sat down. Going to her bureau, she looked at the beautiful, jade colored dress again. The princess looked forward to wearing it.

"My word, it has been a long afternoon." Sibella laid her hat and purse on the coffee table, she'd already ditched her shoes at the door. The princess' ears still rang with the high school marching band's bass drum they'd used in their concert. The vocals had been excellent; an uplifting array of standard choir selections had been sung, as well as a few popular songs the students had chosen. Seeing the kids had reminded Sibella how old she felt. It also reminded her how young she'd felt on her excursion with Gary the previous year. That brought a smile to her face. If only she'd met Turnbull back then. That thought made Sibella wonder, made her feel confused. Gary was a wonderful, charming man, but Turnbull was too, and he made Sibella feel giddy. Gary didn't, the attraction felt different.

An alarm clock's chime brought Sibella back to the present. She had to get ready for dinner at the consulate. Quickly, she gathered all her accoutrements. After freshening her make-up, pulling her dark brown hair into a French twist and putting on her jewelry, Sibella was ready for dinner at the consulate.

********

Marvin Callahan locked his office door then checked the knob twice. It had been a long day, what with the Morenian princess staying, then the Canadian constable's insistence on seeing a perfectly safe vault and now there was a Chicago police detective camped out in his lobby. The hotel manager stowed his keys on the ring hanging at his belt then bid his night receptionist good night. As Marvin walked the length of the lobby, toward the parking structure, he noticed the detective gazing at a newspaper but not actually reading it. Detective Vecchio ignored the manager who ignored him in return. Near the bronze colored service elevators he saw one of his recent hires, a young, raven haired woman. She pushed one of the Rubber Maid cleaning carts, her hotel uniform crisp and clean.

"Good evening, Tina, having a good shift so far?" Marvin pushed the button to take him to the top level as the young woman pushed the cart inside the elevator with him.

"Yes, so far, so good," she answered with a polite smile, pushing the button to take her to the fifth floor janitor's closet.

"Are you finding everything alright?" Marvin inquired. He tried to help his staff during their training as much as possible. A well trained staff made for a smoothly running hotel that pleased guests.

"Yes, Mr. Callahan, the hotel is wonderful to work for," Tina answered, her voice soft and bright.

"Good. Let me know if you need anything." The elevator stopped at the fifth floor, allowing Tina to push her cart out. She waved good-bye as she left. Marvin grinned and waved back. As soon as the elevator doors slid together Tina pulled out her cell phone and hit speed dial.

"Hello, Anton. Yes, he's gone for the evening. I've planted the explosives." She smiled like a comic book villainess as she listened to her accomplice.

"Good work, Tina. We are sitting outside the parking structure as we speak." A harsh dial tone told her Anton had hung up.

"The Heart of Morenia will once again belong to the people." Tina slid the phone back into her pocket with satisfaction.

_**Outside the parking structure …** _

Marvin Callahan pulled out into rush hour traffic, glad that he only had to get to his apartment three blocks away. Sometimes, in the summer and fall, he walked to work. Glad to be off the clock, the hotel manager whistled as he drove. He didn't see the Chevy Cavalier tailing him, two men in the front seat. As Marvin neared his apartment complex he switched on his turn signal and edged into a spot along the street. The Cavalier drove past, it's passenger watching the hotel manager stroll toward the red brick building's front entrance.

"Let us park down here and follow him inside." Anton pointed to an open parking spot where they could get out of the rental without stopping in traffic. Together the pair from Morenia exited the small car and walked up the four flights of stairs to Marvin Callahan's apartment. The hotel manger was just getting to his door after having stopped to retrieve his mail and speak to a neighbor. Anton and Yakov came up to him from behind, each one taking an elbow.

"Be very quiet, Mr. Callahan. Unlock the door and let us all walk in together," Anton spoke low as the surprised man began to stammer. Marvin turned the knob, allowing them inside his apartment after he the taller man with a handgun.

"What do you want? I don't have any cash, nothing valuable," Marvin asked as he stumbled into a seat on his couch.

"We want the Heart of Morenia, you can get it for us. If you do as we tell you to no one will get hurt. If you do anything to alert the police we are prepared to detonate enough explosives to flatten the Hilton along with half the block where it sits." The small, European man's thin face and dark hair slicked back from his beady eyes made him look like a ferret.

"Explosives? You're crazy. How did you ..." Marvin began. The bigger of the two men shook his head, silencing Marvin. "What are you going to do with me?" the hotel manager asked.

"We are going to have a wonderful evening here, together, then in the morning, you will open the vault. Or else." Anton answered with a sneer. Marvin looked from one man to the other, flabbergasted. "We don't want to hurt anyone, but the Heart of Morenia must return to the people." Anton launched into the history of the Relic. Marvin could care less. As he listened Yakov rummaged through the kitchen, coming up with three, lunch meat sandwiches and three glasses of cheap, grape pop.

"Have dinner." The taller, lighter one offered Marvin a sandwich from a plate. He took it, what else was he supposed to do? These guys didn't seem like they intended to hurt him.

********


	8. Arrival

**The Consulate ...**

"Turnbull, has the caterer delivered and set up yet?" Meg thundered as she breezed into the consulate's back door. She passed through two waitresses and an an assistant chef to get to the lanky blond Canadian. Turnbull wiped his fingers on the mauve apron tied over his uniform.

"Yes, Sir, dinner is ready to serve as soon as the guests arrive." He stood straight and tall, looking over his boss' head completely. Inspector Thatcher frowned up at him.

"Constable Turnbull, take that ridiculous apron off." She gave him a laundry list of things to do before leaving in the limo to escort the princess to the consulate. Lastly she asked where Fraser had gotten off to.

"Constable Fraser is in his office."

With an eye roll, Meg left to see what her second in command was up to.

Fraser heard Meg's heels clacking on the hardwood floor before he saw her. His heart sped up a bit at the thought of seeing her dressed for dinner. Ben knew what pains she went to keep herself up, and the masculine half of his brain appreciated the effort.

"Constable Fraser, good evening," Thatcher greeted her subordinate officer as if it were an order.

"Good evening, Sir." Ben turned from hanging up the phone to see his boss lady. He had to swallow hard to anchor his heart. She was simply stunning. The deep wine color of her dress flattered her dark hair and complexion. Meg's chocolate brown eyes were fringed by long, dark lashes. The dress she'd chosen hugged every curvy but with ladylike grace, flowing into a modest flounce around the top of her knees. It was a silver pendant set with onyx about the size of a half dollar that caught the constable's eye though.

_If you don't mind my saying so, Sir, you look lovely this evening,_  Ben thought to himself but couldn't force the words out of his mouth. So he said nothing at all.

"I've sent Constable Turnbull in the limo to pick up Princess Sibella. She seems to have taken a liking to him," Inspector Thatcher informed him as he focused on her left earlobe. "and it gets him out of the way for a while so the service staff can work."

"Very good, Sir," Fraser responded as usual. After an awkward pause Meg left, her lips pursed in annoyance. He hadn't said anything -- again.

********

Chuck pulled up to the curb along side the Canadian Consulate and found a parking spot.

"Alright, buddy, are you ready?" The bantam businessman shoved off his seat belt and turned to his long time friend.

"Yeah, I think so," Gary answered as he scanned the Paper once more before dinner.

"Then let's go, shall we." Chuck opened his door to get out. Gary quickly caught his arm.

"What do you mean, 'we', Chuck, it's invitation only."

"Oh, didn't I tell you, they called from the consulate and hired McGinty's to cater the dinner tonight." Chuck grinned, a ka-ching resounding in his ears.

"And you've got to be around to supervise, is that right?" Gary leaned back, his brows lifted.

"That's right, Gar, supervise." Chuck pulled away, getting out of the car and closing the door.

"Well stay out of sight, alright. If I need you I'll find you." Gary warned his friend, knowing better than anyone the kinds of trouble Chuck could get into without meaning to.

********

Meg paced the foyer, first looking at her watch then looking out the frosted glass door. It was fifteen minutes until seven. When she saw Gary walk up the front steps she nearly had to nail her strappy shoes to the floor. Meg waited until the door bell rang to open the door.

"Good evening, Inspector Thatcher," Gary greeted her, his deep voice rumbling as he smiled cordially. She smiled, lighting up her face.

"Call me Meg, please. Come in, Mr. Hobson." She ushered him into the foyer.

"Call me Gary too, Mr. Hobson is my father." He stepped in and handed her his overcoat.

"Gary," Meg spoke the word as if it were a gift. "Princess Sibella hasn't arrived yet, she should be here any moment." Gary simply nodded as he followed her into the drawing room. Meg resisted the urge to turn back and look him over again. The dark blue suit fit him well across his broad shoulders.

"Hello, Mr. Hobson," Robin greeted her boss with a broad smile. The young waitress wore a white button down shirt, a cravat and a pair of black slacks; the McGinty's catering uniform.

"Robin, hello, I see Chuck's got you working tonight." Gary wondered if she did it for the extra pay or the entertainment of seeing him in a suit and the 'handsome Mountie', as she'd put it.

"I wouldn't miss this for the world; a real, live princess," the young woman gushed. Gary smiled, shaking his head and keeping his opinion to himself as he took a glass of champagne from the tray Robin held.

"Gary, won't you have a seat?" Meg offered as she took a glass as well. With a nod, he left Robin to sit with Meg.

"Are you from Chicago?" Meg began, sipping her champagne slowly.

"No, actually I moved here after college. I used to be a stock broker." Gary stopped himself from coming right out and telling her about the Paper.

"How did you come to own your bar then?" She leaned closer, trying to figure out what shade of brown his eyes were. Gary smiled, his eyes nearly disappearing.

"Oh, that is a long story."

Meg dearly wished he'd tell her, in detail. She loved the sound of his voice, with it's faint hint of a twang.

"Pardon me, Inspector Thatcher, the princess has arrived. Turnbull is escorting her inside now." Fraser popped his head in after knocking. Meg and Gary set their wine glasses on the coffee table and rose to their feet.

"Here you are, Princess Sibella. Dinner should be served soon." Constable Turnbull escorted the graceful princess into the foyer on his arm. The chandelier overhead made the silver filigree on her dress glitter as the princess moved, her evening wrap dazzling with sequins spread across it like sprinkles on a cup cake. The low profile tiara atop her head was set with small diamonds.

"Good evening, everyone. I am so please to see you." Sibella smiled brightly and not the one she'd been trained to give since she was a little girl.

"Princess Sibella, thank you for inviting me to dinner this evening." Gary took her hand briefly as they progressed to the dining room.

"It is Inspector Thatcher we must thank. She has been so gracious, hosting this dinner party on such short notice." Sibella turned to the other woman with her praise.

"Yes, thank you, Inspector Thatcher." Gary's gaze lingered as he walked slightly behind Sibella. Meg felt the heat of a blush rising on her face.

Everyone stood until the princess was seated, only then did Constable Fraser take command of Inspector Thatcher's seat. Gary had to seat himself. Robin and the other servers stepped in to pour wine and fill plates. Gary tensed every time he saw Robin start toward him with something. She had a tendency to spill things.

"Constable Fraser, did you find anything out about the two men I overheard this afternoon in the hotel lobby?" Sibella asked boldly after the servers had left. Fraser saw Meg's eyes flash in surprise.

"Not yet, Your Highness. I'm still investigating the matter." Fraser could have swallowed his tongue. He knew he'd hear about it when the inspector had time later. "At the moment I have a detective friend of mine, Detective Vecchio, watching the hotel lobby." Fraser looked the princess in the eye.

"What exactly did you over hear, Your Highness?" Gary leaned forward, just shy of putting his elbows up on the white, damask table cloth. He could hear his mother's voice scolding him for that as a child.

"I overheard two men talking about the Heart of Morenia in the hotel lobby this afternoon. I believe they planned to steal it from the hotel vault," Sibella answered. Her blue eyes sparkled as she talked. "At first I noticed their clothing. Their suits were hand made. The tailors in some of our southern provinces are known for their very tiny stitches." She held two fingers almost together to indicate how small.

"Constable Turnbull and the hotel manager went through the surveillance tapes. I sent the photos to Interpol for identification," Fraser assured the princess, as well as his boss.

"Mr. Hobson was just about to tell me the story of how he came to own McGinty's Bar." Meg changed the subject, but not before giving Ben a look that said ' _I'll tend to you later'._

"That is a very long and dull story," Gary protested.

"Oh, I'm sure you can condense the story. Please do tell, Gary," Sibella urged. Meg could have strangled her on principal. Robin walked into the dining room and quietly slipped Gary a note. Opening it he read,

_"Gary, we need to talk. Chuck."_

"Please excuse me." Gary took his leave of the dining room and headed toward the kitchen in the back of the former house. Chuck was pacing around the back door.

"Gary, there you are. I went out to my car to make a phone call and look what I found." He thrust the Paper into his friend's hands. On the front page Gary read:

_Friday morning two suspects broke into the vault of the Chicago Hilton. According to the hotel manager, Marvin Callahan, the suspects threatened to detonate explosives if he didn't open the vault in order to steal a rare garnet known as The Heart of Morenia. Princess Sibella of Morenia, on vacation in the United States, was set to present The Heart of Morenia to the Chicago Natural History Museum at a gala event. The princess is quoted as saying, "It is a sad day for my country."_

Gary re-read the passage, double checking the facts. From experience, he knew the press had left out a lot of detail. The police wouldn't comment on an on-going investigation.

"I've got to find the explosives." Gary looked at his watch, wondering if he should finish dinner or go to the hotel immediately.

"What about the princess, Gar?" Chuck paced a few steps, his hands on his hips as he waited for his friend's response.

"What, the princess. Oh, I'll have to tell her I'm leaving." Gary looked at his watch, thinking quickly. Decisively, he set off back toward the dining room.

"Your Highness, I hate to but I have to go, it's urgent." Gary held the newspaper in one hand as he spoke.

"What's wrong, Mr. Hobson?" Meg asked in alarm, hating to see him leave so soon.

"It's, ah, something back at the bar." Gary pointed to the door while looking at Sibella.

"Of course, Gary, you must take care of your wonderful establishment." Sibella smiled indulgently.

"I'll call on you before you leave, Your Highness." Gary bowed slightly as he took his leave of the foreign royal. Gently, she slipped her hand into his, her sapphire blue eyes studying the handsome American. Gary smiled warmly as he stared into her eyes a moment.

*********  


	9. Toilet Paper Box

**The Consulate ...**

"Constable Fraser, perhaps you should see if you can help Mr. Hobson," Inspector Thatcher said after Gary had left. To an uninformed observer it sounded like a suggestion. There was no question in Fraser's mind it was an order. With only a nod, the constable excused himself from the table and followed Gary. He caught him just as he slid into Chuck's car.

"Gary, may I have a moment?" Fraser squatted down to see the men as Gary lowered the window.

"I'm really in a hurry here, Constable," Gary began, itching to look at the Paper again.

"Perhaps I can be of some assistance," Fraser persisted.

"The wagon train is pulling out, Cowboy." Chuck motioned toward the back seat. Gary glared at him before getting out of the low slung vehicle to let the Canadian in.

"Chuck, what are you doing? The last thing we need is a Mountie trailing behind us," Gary groused as Chuck pulled away from the curb.

"Just go with it, Gar. He might come in handy." The bantam businessman weaved through the streets like a madman, cutting off cars and whizzing through yellow lights.

"Where are we going?" Fraser asked as he braced himself for a sharp, left turn.

"To the Hilton," Gary answered.

"Why, may I ask?" The Constable tried not to count the number of traffic laws Chuck broke as he drove.

"Someone planted explosives in the hotel. We've got to find them." It was Chuck's turn to answer.

"Oh," was all Fraser had to offer, confused. "And how do you know this?"

"It's a long, long story, Constable Fraser," Gary answered, flipping to the story in the Paper. It was even more confusing. Fraser thought this is what Ray must feel like when he followed one of the tremulous leads the Mountie chased.

********

The Chicago Hilton buzzed with life, especially around the bar. Ray longed to leave the lobby and go home. He knew his mother would have something great just out of the oven to set on the table. He didn't even mind if his younger sister, Francesca, asked about Fraser.

"Ray," Fraser spoke. The detective let the newspaper lay over to look up at the red serge clad Canadian.

"Ray Vecchio, this is Gary Hobson and Chuck Fishman, co-owners of McGinty's Bar." The detective stared up at him expectantly, waiting for an explanation as to why they were there when they should have been miles away, eating dinner at the consulate. "Mr. Hobson here seems to think there are explosives planted in the hotel in an attempt to steal the Morenian Relic." It sounded preposterous but no one blinked an eye at the constable's statement.

"Okay, so where are they?" Ray laid the newspaper aside and stood up.

"I'm not sure exactly." Gary looked around the lobby, his brows lifted and his eyes scanning the corners.

"Then how do you know there are explosives in the first place." Ray began studying the man standing before him. Something was definitely off about him. Gary brought his scanning eyes back to the detective in front of him. Vecchio was a lot more suspicious than Zeke Crumb had ever been.

"Oh, uh, Chuck here overheard it." Gary tried to leave it as vague as possible. Ray looked to Fraser, his lie detector going off.

"Where did you overhear they were planted then?" the detective rephrased his question.

"Like I said, I'm not exactly sure," the bar owner answered.

"We should split up, Ray," Fraser interrupted, looking at his watch.

"Alright, me and Mr. Hobson here will start in the lobby while you and, what did you say your name was?" Ray pointed to Chuck.

"Chuck Fishman, Detective," the usually boisterous bar owner answered with his most innocent expression. There were several outstanding parking tickets on his little, red chick magnet.

"You and the Mountie take the even numbered floors, we'll meet on the top floor." With that Ray and Gary began searching the lobby.

"So, how is the bar business, Mr. Hobson?" Ray began, starting toward the manager's office and the service elevators.

"Call me Gary. McGinty's does alright." Together the men started took the elevator to the third floor.

"How long have you known the princess?" Ray asked, trying to sound nonchalant, his dark eyes watching Gary in the elevator's reflection.

"Not long. I met her last year when she was here. She slipped into the back of our van. She, well, she wasn't quite herself." Sibella had been drunk, but Gary was too much of a gentleman to put it that way.

"Why would anyone want to steal that relic thing, I mean she's got jewelry with her that's worth more." The detective shrugged, his hands on his hips, pulling the tail of his tan jacket out like wings around him.

"I don't know. I guess it's not about the money." Gary hadn't really thought about the thieves' motivation.

"Why are you and the Mountie investigating this, if you don't mind me asking?" It was Ray's turn to answer.

"That's a long story, it all began when Fraser came to Chicago on the trail of the men who killed his father," Ray caught himself beginning to sound just like Ben. "We've solved a number of cases together."

"Is he always so ..." Gary searched for the right word.

"Annoyingly polite, yes," Ray volunteered.

"That's one way to put it." The bar owner smiled, his dark eyes almost disappearing.

"Yeah, Benny could be on his death bed and he'd open the door for someone." The detective shook his head. They continued to talk as they approached the third floor janitor's closet. Together, they emptied the small room of its contents. The pair opened every box and canister until Gary found a box of toilet paper in the back with a black, electrical device inside.

"Detective, I think we found something." He handed the entire, brown, cardboard box over to Ray.

"I'll call it in. Don't touch anything else." Ray stepped out into the empty hallway, pulling his always ready cell out and dialing his precinct. Gary stayed inside the closet for a moment, looking at the Paper. The bombing article had been replaced with one detailing an actress' new movie project. It was a relief, but not by much.

"I'll go tell Chuck and Fraser where we found the explosives," Gary volunteered. Ray nodded as he held the cell phone over his ear. Taking the stairs, the bar owner found his long time friend.

"Chuck, we found the explosives in a box of toilet paper. The Paper article is gone." Chuck's eyes were as wide as saucers, his head pulling to one side as he gave Gary a dire expression.

"What paper article, Gary?" Fraser's voice came from down the hall, not far away.

"Hmm?" Gary tried to play innocent, but he shifted from one foot to the other too much.

"Paper article; Gary was talking about toilet paper, Constable," Chuck rushed to explain.

"You know, my father once told me about meeting a man who worked for a newspaper here in the States, who seemed to know things before they happened. It seems this man received a special newspaper." Fraser's hard stare made both men feel uncomfortable.

"Did this man have a name, Constable?" Gary asked, meeting the Mountie's gaze.

"Snow, I believe, although I've long since forgotten the man's first name." Fraser answered, trying to recall the details.

"Lucius, perhaps." Chuck enunciated his P's. He and Gary both knew how old Lucius Snow got around.

"Yes, I believe so," Fraser agreed. "I take it that's how you knew the consulate car's tire was flat yesterday."

Gary nodded.

"It seems like I spend my life running from one end of this city to the other, crawling around abandoned buildings and pulling careless pedestrians out of the way of freight trucks." The bar owner's dark eyes seemed a little jaded. Fraser knew the feeling all too well, yet he kept at it anyway. Both men met the challenge of the never ending fight. Neither of them saved the entire world, but they made the world better one person at a time.

********


	10. After Party

 The Chicago Police Department's bomb squad spent the next four hours evacuating the hotel and removing the explosives. No one could contact the manager, Marvin Callahan. Guests weren't told exactly what the evacuation was about, only that it was urgent. Princess Sibella was made at home in the consulate's guest room, Turnbull on guard in the foyer.

"Gary, I'll need your statement first thing in the morning." Ray walked into the lobby with the bar owner. It was past midnight, hotel guests were slowly filing back into their rooms.

"Yeah, sure, no problem." Gary nodded, his suit jacket hanging over his arm, his newspaper underneath and his tie loosened around his neck.

"Ray, would you mind terribly, driving me back to the consulate?" Benton asked, his Stetson in his hand. The bomb squad officers moved along the lobby, heading toward the loading dock where they'd parked the department's vehicles.

"Sure, Fraser." The detective shrugged, he'd already spent half the day sitting in the Hilton lobby, why drive clear across town. That's just what friends did and Ray had learned that from Fraser.

"Will you give my regards to the princess. Tell her I'm sorry I had to leave early." Gary approached Fraser, Chuck talking to a tired blonde in the lobby.

"Yes, certainly, Gary." The Mountie smiled politely. "Do you plan on being at the museum tomorrow?" Fraser caught Gary as he headed out the door.

"I don't know, it depends on my schedule." Gary flashed the Paper. It kept him out all hours of the day or night.

"I see, well, shall I leave a ticket at the door for you?" Fraser offered.

"That'd be great, I'll come if I can." Gary shuffled toward the hotel entrance.

********

"This is Meg Thatcher, leave a message at the tone and I'll call back as soon as I can." The machine replayed her greeting message after she hit the button. She sighed when the tin sounding, female voice told her there were no messages. Fruitless, Meg knew, but she hoped to hear Fraser's voice in at least one message that didn't pertain to the damn Canadian Consulate. In her more reckless, chocolate induced, moods she considered resigning her commission and dragging Benton Fraser off to the deepest, darkest holler she could find. Then Meg's blood sugar would return to normal and she'd put the fantasy on hold for a while longer.

One of these days, Benton Fraser, I'll get you to open up, one way or another, Meg vowed to herself for the hundredth time that week. With a sigh, she went to get ready for bed, making sure to lay her favorite pants suit out for the next day and the evening gown she planned to wear to the gala event at the museum. She laid out her jewelry and shoes for the next evening's event. A smile spread across her face when Meg remembered Gary and the way he'd looked at her. She hadn't felt that appreciated in a long time. It didn't take the lady Mountie long to drift off to sleep thinking of the hunky American.

********

By the time Ben got back to his apartment he was so tired he was almost dragging. Still, the one thing that stuck out was how Meg glowed every time she looked at Gary. From what the Mountie noticed, the feeling was mutual. Part of Ben hated that. Another part of him saw Gary as a comrade in arms, an ally. Thinking about it felt like a tornado had took up residence in his stomach. If only she weren't his superior office. Fraser cold recite the RCMP regulations about fraternization between junior and senior officers. That didn't keep him from wishing she glowed like that for him.

"Hello, Diefenbaker." Fraser ran his fingers through the wolf's fur after he shut the front door. Tossing his hat on the arm chair, Ben stepped into the kitchen and retrieved Dief's kibble and poured a bowl. The intuitive wolf looked up at him with his amber eyes, his head turned to one side.

"You didn't miss anything, Dief. I've been at the Chicago Hilton for the last four hours or so." The toll of the day settling in, Ben sat down at the kitchen table and began taking off his boots. They were supportive, but he was still glad to be rid of the leather contraptions. He stretched his cramped toes.

"I'm afraid I didn't miss enough," Ben sighed, feeling old and stifled. The things he wanted to say shifted around in his mind.  _I love the way your eyes shine in candlelight. I love the way your shampoo smells. I can't forget the way your kiss tasted. I see the way you hide your insecurities. I watch you sometimes while you eat lunch in the park._ Ben saw her eating on a bench, the sun on her skin as one shoe dangled from her toe. He could see Meg as clearly as if she were in the room with him, her head back to enjoy the afternoon rays.

After eating what he wanted of his kibble, Dief walked back to Ben and laid his head on the man's knee. Absently, Ben stroked the soft fur, still wrapped up in his memory.

"She deserves to know, Dief. I should tell her one way or another." Ben leaned back in the chair. The next thing he knew he was falling of the stiff backed kitchen chair. Stretching his stiff muscles, Ben shuffled off to bed for the night.

********

Sibella dialed her parents' private phone number slowly. They'd be very worried when they heard about the attempt to steal the Morenian Relic. When she began recounting the story her mother corrected her. They'd already heard. She'd assured them she was fine and had been under the very watchful eye of three Mounties at the time. Sibella wondered how her parents found out so soon.

"Father, I am quite fine. There are wonderful, Royal Canadian Mounted Police officers scarcely ten feet away at any given moment," Sibella assured her father in her best, soothing voice.

"I know, dear, I am simply concerned about your safety." The worry in the king's voice could be heard half a world away.

"I have Constable Turnbull right outside the door and Gary Hobson is my guardian angel," Sibella bubbled.

"Gary Hobson," The king's voice became harsh, "what have you been up to, Sibella Katarina Anika?"

"Nothing, Father, he assisted the consulate's car with a flat tire yesterday morning so I invited him to dinner, that is all." Sibella cursed herself for letting his name slip. She bit her lip as she listened to her father's thunderous admonishment over the phone.

"Yes, Father. I'll cut my vacation short. I'll make arrangements to leave Saturday morning." Sibella sighed, wishing she could instead extend her vacation. Chicago was such a beautiful city and she'd seen so little of it. Mostly, she wanted to get to know Turnbull better. He'd been delightful company the last two days. Sibella hung up, disappointment swirling around her.

"At least I get to see Constable Reinfeld Turnbull tomorrow." Sibella smiled. With her head full of the lanky, blond constable, the princess laid out her attire for the next day and called for a six o'clock wake-up call.

********

Chuck pulled into the alley behind the bar, letting Gary out of the car. All Gary wanted was to pull on his PJ's and sleep.

"Sweet dreams, Gary." Chuck stared at him, confused but sensing his friend's innuendo.

"Go home, Chuck." The Paper carrier waved his buddy away.

"I saw how you eyed that Inspector Thatcher, Gary." Chuck wagged a finger at the man. It wasn't often Gary gave a woman a second glance.

"Don't start, Chuck," Gary warned, knowing how his buddy would beat him over the head with the inspector.

"Go for it, buddy, ask her out." A smile as broad as the Mississippi split the minikin businessman's face. Gary waved him away again then turned to leave.

Despite the late hour, McGinty's was still in full swing. In the kitchen the catering staff had finished stowing away their supplies and the bar staff was busy taking care of patrons. Gary ignored them all and walked up the stairs to his apartment. It wasn't the Ritz Carlton, but it was home and it was comfortable. Cat eyed him from the window sill, his golden eyes blinking. Gary didn't bother talking to the cat, his unwanted guest. They'd long since come to an uneasy truce. Gary saw to the Paper's schedule and Cat kept his own council.

"If today was any measure of Princess Sibella's vacation, I don't want to know what's in store for tomorrow." Gary kicked off his shoes, threw his coat and tie on the couch and began unbuttoning his shirt. Five minutes later he was face down in his comfy bed, deep asleep. Cat sat silently on the window sill, looking down at the alley below.

********


	11. Respect Authority

_The highest duty is to respect authority_. ~Pope Leo XIII

_**Three Blocks from the Hilton ...** _

 Marvin Callahan's eyes popped when he saw the hotel evacuation on the eleven o'clock news. He looked around for the two men who'd forced their presence on him. Both of them were in the kitchen, raiding the refrigerator. Quickly, Marvin grabbed the television remote and turned the volume down. He didn't want the two strong arms getting any ideas about how necessary he was to their plans.

"Anton, what is this, this, Pace Picante Sauce?" the big one asked, scooting things around in the kitchen.

"I don't know, get a spoon from the drainer and try it, Yakov," the smaller, meaner one answered, annoyance in his tone. Marvin smiled when he heard the big man open the jar and get himself a spoonful. The hotel manager had added fiery hot sauce to the jar to suit his taste. The concoction would melt paint. Sure enough, the one called Yakov began gagging and coughing.

"Get a glass of water, you idiot." Anton turned on the cold water. From the sound of water against the stainless steel sink, the big man was lapping water from the tap. Marvin nearly laughed out loud, imagining the scene in the kitchen as he tried to watch the news story about the hotel. Anton walked into the living room just as the news crew began interviewing a guest.

"Yakov, get in here, immediately," Anton demanded as he took the remote control away from Marvin.

"What is it, Anton, my mouth is still on fire," the big man whined. His entire face was cherry red and there were tears streaming down his cheeks.

"They found the explosives in the hotel. We won't be able to get the Heart of Morenia out of the vault." Anton perched on the edge of the couch beside Marvin, his eyes zoomed in on the twenty-one inch television screen.

"What are we going to do? We don't have a secondary plan." Yakov took a drink of the water glass in his hand.

"Call Tina, tell her to meet us here." Anton handed Yakov the telephone from the end table beside him. Marvin debated whether or not to ask them what they were going to do with him. He wasn't sure he wanted to remind them he was no longer necessary for their plan at the hotel.

********

"Good morning, Chicago, it's six-thirty on this Friday morning. In world news ..." The news caster's next words were shushed as Gary flipped the radio/alarm off. As usual, the Paper hit the doorstep accompanied by a loud meow. With a disgusted grunt, the early riser rolled over and looked up at the ceiling. A second, solicitous meow sounded a moment later.

"I'm comin', don't get your tail in a knot," Gary griped as his feet hit the hardwood floor. Opening the door the familiar, yellow eyes peered up at him, unsatisfied. "Good morning to you too." Cat paid him no attention, trotting inside without invitation. Gary grabbed the thick newspaper, dreading the headline.

"Mayor Daley to attend the Chicago Museum's Gala Tonight," the headline read. Gary began scanning the front page for more information. Nothing glaring stood out to him. A picture of the mayor and Princess Sibella's smiling face lit the page. It did nothing to squelch the dread in Gary's stomach.

"I'll have to rent a tux before tonight." He sighed, running his fingers through his thick, dark hair. After a quick check of the Paper's needs, Gary showered and dressed for the day.

********

Gary hung his tuxedo on the back of the front door, waiting for later that evening. Still grousing, he locked the door began to loosen his boots and pullover shirt. He knew he smelled like something out back in the bar's dumpster because he'd been forced to go dumpster diving to save a little boy from being killed in a garbage truck's compactor. The five year old was fine but Gary was covered in stuff he didn't really want to know about. Peeling down to his briefs, the Paper hero headed to the shower for the second time that day.

Smelling good once again and redressed, Gary picked up the Paper to see what his next chore was scheduled. Eyes still on the type, he answered the phone.

"Hey Gary, you have someone down here in the bar." Marissa's voice had a certain teasing tone to it he recognized.

"Who is it?" Not much of anything surprised him anymore.

"Inspector Thatcher." The blind woman's tone teased him further. Gary didn't know why the lovely, lady Mountie was there but he found himself looking forward to seeing her again.

"Offer her coffee or something and tell her I'll be down in a minute." He hung up and gathered his clean tennis shoes.

Meg sat at the bar nursing a bottled water. She eyed the establishment around her, it's well lit bar area, the polished, hardwood bar, the sound of pool balls striking one another and the smell of food cooking in the kitchen off to the right. She was studying the photographs behind the bar when Gary walked in from his private stairway through the kitchen. She tucked a strand of dark hair behind one ear.

"Hello, uh, Meg." He hesitated, torn between calling her by her Christian name and 'Inspector'.

"Gary, good afternoon." She slipped off the bar stool easily, her dark eyes looking up at him from beneath a fan of dark lashes. "I hope I haven't come at an inopportune time." Meg had to take a deep breath to steady herself. Gary saw Marissa's knowing smile. She'd been after him forever to get a social life.

"Oh no, now is as good a time as any." He handed Marissa the Paper for safe keeping and ushered Meg to a table for two.

"I came to bring you a ticket to tonight's event at the museum." She pulled the thick paper out of her purse, her fingers lingering as Gary took the bookmark sized ticket. "I was going to send Constable Turnbull, but, well, I thought, I wanted to give it to you in person."

"I'll be there, thank you." Gary's crooked grin made the Canadian warm all over.

"I look forward to seeing you," She hesitated, "at the museum. It starts at seven this evening," Meg covered, she didn't care what time it started as long as Gary planned on being there.

"Save a dance for me," Gary spoke low as he stood up with Meg. The dazzling smile she gave him made the afternoon sun seem pale in comparison. She left him watching her as she exited the bar. Looking over her shoulder, Meg saw that crooked grin emerge once more.

********

Ben had been at the consulate since early that morning. There was always more to do the day of an event such as the museum's gala. Diefenbaker sat on the floor beside him, dozing as he pleased. Turnbull had been working the guest list all morning, sorting and checking the status of several guests. Ben's stomach reminded him of the time with a rumble. Dief popped his head up, hoping it was finally lunch time. The Mountie grabbed his hat and stepped out of his closet office. Walking past Inspector Thatcher's office he noticed she wasn't there.

"Constable Turnbull, where is the inspector?" Fraser interrupted the younger Mountie who had been singing his ABC's as he alphabetized the received RSVP's.

"She went to McGinty's Bar to take Mr. Hobson a ticket to tonight's gala at the museum, Sir," Turnbull answered blithely.

"Oh, she did." A deep frown pulled at Fraser's face. "How long has she been gone?"

"How long has who been gone, Constable Fraser?" Inspector Thatcher's voice interrupted the pair. Fraser turned on his heel to see his boss entering the consulate, a barely contained smile in her voice.

"You, Sir," Fraser answered, silently chastising himself for his jealousy.

_Why?_  crossed Meg's mind but she held her tongue. In front of Constable Turnbull was no where to have such a probing conversation. "Have you talked to the museum's head of security, Constable Fraser?" she asked instead.

"Yes, Sir, I was on my way to his office." The Mountie gave a report with his usual, efficient professionalism.

"The King of Morenia has already called my superior in Ottawa after last night's hotel evacuation. This gala must go off without a hitch, do you understand, Constable?" She turned into the boss before Fraser's eyes. He wondered sometimes which one she was on the inside, Meg or Inspector Thatcher?

"Understood, Sir." Fraser looked past her, feeling her authority chafing. She nodded curtly and waltzed past, off to her office. Ben took a deep breath and adjusted his uniform jacket.

"I'll be back later this afternoon, Constable Turnbull." Fraser set his Stetson on his head and left the younger Mountie wondering where he was headed.

 

*******


	12. At the Gala

A tiara is a funny piece of jewelry. It sits atop a woman's head, usually held in place with combs on each side. For some it is a symbol of her status as royalty. To others it makes them feel like a princess. A tiara sparkles with many different precious stones; diamonds, emeralds, rubies, sapphires, all set into equally precious metals of gold, silver or platinum. Princess Sibella of Morenia wore her crown as if it were an extension of her very being. She'd taken great pains to dress for the gala event at the Chicago Museum of Art. The princess fingered the large, silver fleur-di-lis design in the center. The last thing she added to her accessories was her tiara. It sat propped against the ballerina bun she favored, it's diamonds glittering beneath the overhead light as she looked at the snow white column dress of satin. She touched the sky blue roses embroidered into the material. Her matching blue opera gloves kept her from feeling the cotton and metallic thread forming the roses. Sibella pointed one toe from beneath the floor length gown, glad she'd had one of her lady's maids send in the order for the silver stilettos for her. Her parents wouldn't see the shoes beneath the long gown. A smile spread across her delicately boned face. Sibella vowed that when she was queen she'd wear stilettos at least once a week until she was an old lady. Looking in the mirror, the princess straightened the pin matching her tiara. Thin, satin straps held the heavy gown in place across the young woman's bare shoulders. With a sigh, Sibella adjusted the gauzy shroud around her shoulders.

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK, resounded against the suite doors.

"Your Highness, are you ready to leave for the museum?" Constable Turnbull inquired through the closed door.

"One moment, please, Constable Turnbull." Sibella found the disposable camera in her luggage. She wanted a picture of the people and places of Chicago she'd miss back in Morenia. Opening the door, the princess smiled at the dashing, young officer standing before her, his hat in his hand. The Mountie wore his formal attire well, his broad shoulders and lean frame showcased the antiquated dress uniform. He wore the historic red serge like a proud badge of honor.

Turnbull's eyes widened as he took the princess in from her ballerina bun to the hem of her gown.

"If I may, Your Highness, you look exquisite this evening." He bowed at the waist then offered her his arm. Flattered, she didn't know what besides 'thank you' to say. Gently, Sibella laid a gloved hand on his arm and began walking down the hall. Sibella glittered and shone like a polished gem with every light they passed.

"Oh, stop, please, I have a favor to ask of you." Sibella pulled Turnbull back to the suite door where one of the Mounties flown in for the princess' vacation stood at attention.

"I hope you don't mind, Constable Turnbull, I want to remember my time in Chicago, with you," She whispered the last words as she smiled for the Mountie to take the picture. Surprised by not only by the camera flash but her words, Turnbull looked down at the blushing, young woman. Her eyes flutter almost imperceptibly as her gaze met his.

"I've enjoyed your company as well, Your Highness." The blond Mountie's voice rumbled low as he looked at her.

Camera in hand, the pair were once more on their way to the gala event, arm-in-arm.

********

Swarming with people, the Chicago Museum of Art had been buzzing since early Friday afternoon. First, a security team from the Canadian government arrived to inspect the building. Next an American team arrived to do the same thing. Going one step further, the Americans swept every room from the janitors' closets to the ceiling tiles. Next came the armored truck with the relic. The quartet for the night brought their instruments in to set up and practice briefly. A crew with chairs, tables and sundry catering items pushed in last. Fraser felt like a ring master at a circus as he marched from one end of the cavernous museum to the other all afternoon. He'd left Diefenbaker with Ray for the evening with strict instructions not to feed him any human food unless it was meat. At five o'clock Inspector Thatcher arrived, still in her pant suit. She asked a dozen questions before being satisfied that Constable Fraser had everything well under control. The Mountie was rather glad to see her leave so he could get back to work. He thought to himself,  _If I ever quit the RCMP I believe I'll go into business as an event coordinator. I've had enough practice."_ Fraser would much rather have fought a grizzly bear covered in honey than to be asked one more time where to put a potted palm. Anyone else would have told them exactly where to put the stupid, potted palm; no one as nicely as Fraser though.

Six o'clock came with the catering staff still rushing around the main gallery of the museum. They wore black slacks, crisp, white shirts and black vests. No one noticed the two extra waiters and a waitress who'd slipped into the museum following the catering truck.

"Excuse me." Fraser called the staff to attention in his commanding yet humble way. Everyone stood silent and still. "I am about to open the doors for guests to arrive. Please remember to smile and be courteous. It only takes an extra second to be kind to someone. Thank you kindly." The staff turned back to their work as he finished what he'd hoped was an inspirational message. Noise rushed back into the room like the Red Sea after the Israelites had finished crossing. Only the imported Mounties in the back seemed to appreciate his efforts. Sometimes Americans were trying, even to the long suffering optimist, Benton Fraser.

Returning from the museum's foyer, Fraser stood looking over his final check list. He saw some of the waiters elbowing each other as he scanned the list in his hand. The Mountie turned to see what the fuss was about. Meg Thatcher walked in, more like glided in, as if on a breeze.

"Heavens to Betsy!" Fraser breathed as he tugged on his snug, uniform collar. All the air in the room had been sucked out. Meg wore an exquisite, turquoise halter dress that accentuated her well formed curves. The silk gown fluttered around her feet as she floated into the gallery. Her dark hair had been pulled into a French twist adorned with diamond combs. Three rows of silver sequins hugged her slim waist. Meg's make-up was flawless and becoming.

"Constable Fraser," she spoke, her husky voice full of warmth. The Mountie stood gaping at her, unresponsive. "Constable Fraser," Meg repeated more sharply. After swallowing hard, Ben finally found his tongue.

"Inspector Thatcher, good evening." He straightened into his usual, tense posture as he tried hard to maintain his composure. Why did this woman have such an effect on him? How was it so easy for him to come unglued when she flashed those big, dark eyes his way?

"I see we are open for business this evening. Good work." Meg's tight smile didn't betray her feelings seeing Fraser in his dress uniform. More than ever she wanted to drag him to some northern, wilderness nest and have her way with him. It was more than physical attraction that drew her to the Mountie. Meg was well aware of the way Ben extended himself for others, expecting nothing in return. She knew of his fondness for music and literature as well. Down deep somewhere she knew he had a sense of humor. Most of all it was the solitary Mountie's gentleness that melted her heart.

"Thank you kindly, Sir," Ben responded, his mind working to say something complimentary. "You look very nice this evening, Inspector Thatcher." It was a compliment but having to hear it attached to her rank soured the effect.

"As do you, Constable Fraser." She repaid the compliment before turning to leave the main gallery and head into the foyer.

********

Patrons dressed in expensive evening wear rarely visited the Chicago Museum of Art. Most of the time it was students in Wal-Mart jeans and t-shirts or families. Even decked out in a tux, Gary felt out of place. All around him were the movers and shakers of the Windy City. He'd rubbed elbows, rarely and briefly, with some of them. Running for the Paper, he'd rubbed elbows with more people than he otherwise would have, especially as a stock broker. Under all the glitz and glamour all of them were mostly the same.

"Mr. Hobson." A familiar, female voice cut through the din of the arriving guests. Searching, he found Meg Thatcher walking toward him across the tile floor. The foyer was two stories high, lit with a single chandelier in the center and a wall of arched glass twenty feet high. The main gallery of the museum was accessible by double doors on either side of the display wall. Along the wall hung paintings from a local, high school. Some were excellent while others looked like they were done the morning of the assignment's due date. Guests milled around and sipped champagne offered them by the catering staff. It was difficult to distinguish one voice from another in the din of Chicago's finest citizens. Some of them were so loud they'd be better suited to living in a barn.

"Meg, hello," His dark eyes surveyed her appreciatively as she approached. "wow, you look, amazing." Finally, the compliment she'd waited all day to hear.

"Gary, nice to see you again as well. You look handsome this evening." She felt her face beginning to warm as she let the slightly forward compliment slip from her lips. Like the gentleman he was, Gary offered her his arm. With a smile, she took it. Her dim view of Americans had begun to change. The pair milled around the foyer, Meg greeting some of the guests she knew or knew of in the line of duty. Gary spoke to the ones he knew.

"It's almost seven-fifteen, the princess should be here any moment." Meg glanced at the clock off to the east wing of the building. As if speaking it made it so, the Canadian Consulate limo pulled up to the museum. Turnbull exited the passenger side and opened the door for the princess. A media barrage ensued, flash bulbs going off, reporters clamoring for attention and voices raising the noise level even more. Her smile pasted firmly in place, Sibella took Turnbull's arm and stepped into the museum. She waved demurely to the media and guests as she passed through the press of people, Mounties clearing a path.

"Your Highness, welcome to the Chicago Museum of Art." Don Rogers, the museum's curator, stepped forward to greet her. The fifty-something man wasn't hardly as tall as the princess. His balding head shone in the chandelier's light like a polished, pink stone.

"Good evening, Mr. Rogers." A few, authorized reporter stepped politely forward to capture the meeting on film. Meg and Gary stood on the periphery of the crowd. Meg saw a familiar form standing near the door. Fraser's face said more about his thoughts than he'd likely express otherwise. There was a sadness about his eyes that made Meg feel guilty. She didn't want to hurt him, she just wanted him to let go of his damn duty and tell her how he felt. He'd broken nearly every rule in the RCMP book, why couldn't he break one more and tell her how he felt? Meg's eyes broke away first. Instead she forced a smile and looked up at Gary. She saw Fraser slip through the crowd into the main gallery.

Sibella saw the way Meg Thatcher looked at Fraser as she greeted Mr. Rogers. She also saw how comfortably her hand rested on Gary Hobson's forearm. The princess wanted to be jealous but after a second thought she simply didn't feel it. Instead she wished him all the happiness in the world.

"How are you, Inspector Thatcher, Gary?" Sibella shook hands with both of them.

"I'm well, thank you, Your Highness," Meg answered first, feeling just a little awkward between Fraser's pained gaze and standing on the arm of the man the princess had fancied her first trip to the city.

"Alright, Your Highness," Gary answered, a pale hint of southern accent surfacing.

"I'm glad to see the two of you have been enjoying each other's company, such a lovely couple." Sibella smiled, winking at Gary as if to give her approval. He simply nodded and laid his hand over Meg's on his forearm. The lady Mountie saw the exchange and felt some of the awkward tension leave her.

"If you'll excuse me." Sibella allowed Mr. Rogers to accompany her into the main gallery. Guests drifted into the gallery to witness the ceremony.

********

**Author's Note:**  I basically patterned the Chicago Museum of Art, clumsily, after the Estelle Campbell Arts Center on Alice Lloyd College campus.

 


	13. Disarmed

**The Gala ...**

Anton itched to quit serving fizzy, sugared alcohol to rich Americans. He wanted to pull the small handgun out of the leg holster chafing his calf and demand that the Heart of Morenia be returned to the people. It pissed him off that the Morenian government had the audacity to loan the precious stone, a symbol of the tiny country's independence and history, to a museum in America. The rebel leader wasn't so sure about his associate. Yakov had started having second thoughts about going through with the plan to take the Heart of Morenia back and give it to the country's own state museum where the citizens could visit it and learn about the proud, little nation. It was a kamikaze mission, Anton, Yakov and Tina had all known that at the outset.

"Yakov, are you ready?" Anton asked as they met at the bar to refill their trays.

"Yes, Anton. Is Tina in place?" A worried look crossed the big rebel's fair face.

"Yes, I just spoke to her. She gathered all the combustible cleaning liquids she could find in the janitors' closets to add to the explosives. The bomb is rigged and waiting on a serving trolley." The dark rebel spoke in their native tongue. Only one person in the room could understand any of what they said-Princess Sibella. "As soon as the princess begins her speech we will draw our guns and interrupt."

"I still feel bad for leaving that hotel manager tied to a kitchen chair," Yakov whined. He'd hated taping the man's mouth shut and using his telephone cord to bind his hands. They'd left the television playing before they left.

"I told you, I telephoned the hotel and told the assistant manager to drop by and pick him up first thing in the morning," Anton hissed. With a nod the pair split up, each taking a tray of drinks to the guests.

Mr. Rogers, Princess Sibella and Mayor Daley gathered around the column containing the Heart of Morenia. The tangerine sized stone showcased it's facets under the specially designed lighting lining the bullet proof glass. Guards stood at the doors and were mixed in with the guests in plain clothes, if a tuxedo can be considered plain. Under all that security one would have thought it was the Hope Diamond.

"Esteemed citizens, I have the great pleasure to present Princess Sibella of Morenia. The government of her country has graciously allowed the Chicago Museum of Art to display the Heart of Morenia." Everyone clapped as Mr. Rogers introduced the princess. Bowing out of the spot light, the curator turned the microphone over to her.

"Thank you, Mr. Rogers, for that lovely introduction. I am here this evening to present one of our country's most treasured relics ..." A woman with a serving trolley pushed her way to the center of the gallery. She swiftly pulled two things out of her pockets; a hand gun and an remote control. Her dark hair had been pulled back into a braided bun at her crown. Security officers and Mounties rushed forward, guns in their hands.

"Oh no, boys, hold on there. Let's see what I have in store for you before you rush in half cocked." Tina threw back the table cloth covering the serving trolley. Bottles of ammonia, bleach, and wax stripper, to name a few, sat clustered around a block of plastic explosives. Wires connected the explosives to a travel alarm clock. "There are two ways to set the bomb off, one is by remote, the other is to set the alarm. Both ways make it go BOOM!" A self-satisfied expression masked the European woman's features. Anton and Yakov began taking guns from the security officers in tuxedos. When they searched the Canadian officers all they found were pocket and hunting knives. It was confusing but of little consequence.

Gary felt naked, going into this sort of situation without the Paper. He'd checked it moments before entering the building; not a single headline. Instinctively, Gary stepped in front of Meg. Fraser and Turnbull flanked their commanding officer.

"What are your orders, Sir?" Turnbull asked very quietly. He eyed the thugs surrounding Princess Sibella. Meg saw the fierce light burning in the junior Mountie's eyes. She ordered him to stay put until otherwise instructed.

"What do you want?" Sibella demanded as Tina took her by the arm. She'd never been in any danger before. Nothing made sense to the princess.

"We want the Heart of Morenia, Your Highness." The woman's voice was cold and harsh.

"Surely there are more valuable pieces here in the museum for you to steal." Sibella's brows knit in a confused frown. The woman let out a surprised chuckle.

"The Heart of Morenia is of little value as far as precious stones are concerned. It is the symbol of the Morenian people's freedom and history. It should never have been handed over to these greedy, vapid Americans." Her grip tightened around Sibella's arm as she spoke.

"How do you expect to get the stone without tripping the alarm?" Sibella's sapphire eyes searched for Turnbull as she tried to think of something to say. She saw the blond Mountie watching her, his jaw working in concern. The woman hesitated, looking to the dark, little man with a gun.

"If the curator put the Heart of Morenia in the box, he can take it out of the box as well." Anton responded. He motioned for Yakov and Tina to come closer. He surveyed the room, calculating the number of guests. Most of them were important to the city of Chicago, or simply rich and there were nearly one hundred of them, including the security personnel. It would take time to tie that many people up. "Use whatever you can find, bar the doors to this gallery. As soon as the curator has the Heart of Morenia out of the display case we will make our escape." Roughly, Anton took Mr. Rogers by the arm and dragged him to the display case.

Fraser tried to listen to the slight built man obviously in charge but couldn't hear over the rumbling murmur of voices in the gallery. His mind raced through several different scenarios. None of them were promising.

"I don't think they have a concrete plan, Constable Fraser," Meg spoke very near his ear. Ben looked down at his boss and saw the concern in her dark eyes.

"I agree, Sir, but they seem to have the advantage with the princess as a hostage," Ben pointed out.

"I wonder how willing they are to start using those guns?" Gary interjected, bringing up another valid question. "They haven't hurt anyone yet."

"How do we know the bomb is real, Sir?" Turnbull added intelligently, much to Fraser and Thatcher's surprise. The two senior officers traded curious stares.

"The display case is sealed, only the security company can unlock it without triggering the alarm." Mr. Rogers pulled away from Anton, the older man's voice rising.

"How long before the alarm goes off if I shoot the case?" Anton's rat-like eyes took on a sinister glint as he held up the handgun. Yakov knew that look too well. He'd known Anton his whole life. They'd grown up together in the same village outside the capitol city. Anton had been an orphan living on the streets when he tried to shake Yakov down for money. The bigger boy had easily fended him off but didn't get angry. Instead he invited Anton to supper at his house.

"Anton, we have proven our point, the Heart of Morenia will be back home in a few months. We can keep writing letters to the king, we can demonstrate in front of the palace," Yakov pleaded.

"That is not enough, Yakov, the king will not listen. Like King Eleck, we must take what we know is ours. He fought against the neighboring kings to secure Morenia for his people. We must do the same." Anton spoke with passion. He identified with the first king of Morenia.

"King Eleck tried talking to his enemies first. He wanted to band the different villages together to form a country to protect them from raiders. I am here, in Chicago, to do much the same for my country. Among these party guests there are businessmen with interests all over the world. My father is trying to interest others in our country to provide good jobs, better education for it's citizens and state of the art medical facilities as well." Sibella pulled free of Tina's grip. She drew herself to her full height and took on a regal posture as she corrected the rebel. She saw a proud smile spread across Turnbull's face. He clapped silently at her heartfelt words.

"It was his might that accomplished his goals. Talking never changed anything." Anton pointed the handgun squarely at the princess. She took a deep breath but masked her fear.

"How long before the police arrive once the alarm goes off, Mr. Rogers?" After a moment the rebel turned his attention to the curator.

"About five minutes," Mr. Rogers answered, wiping sweat from his forehead.

Gary's mind raced, trying to consider all the options. He prayed that the Paper had revealed a headline to Chuck or Marissa, anyone to call the cops. Despite the rustle of frightened people's voices the bar owner heard a familiar meow and began searching the gallery for Cat. The yellow, fur ball was seated comfortably on a table near the back of the gallery. For once, Gary was relieved to see him. He edged away from Meg and went to retrieve the Paper he knew Cat sat on.

_**Morenian Rebels Hold Mayor and Princess Hostage.** _

_Several are dead after the explosion Friday night when three rebels from Morenia, posing as waiters, took some of the city's most influential citizens hostage. Using explosives smuggled in as well as common cleaning agents, the rebels assembled a dirty bomb. Investigators received a tip about the bomb from an anonymous source shortly after the gala event began. Negotiators were sent to the scene but were unsuccessful. Among the dead are the Princess of Morenia, the Canadian Chief Liaison Officer, Mayor Daley and three, city aldermen. Police are still investigating the blast._

Gary scanned the article twice. A color picture showed the extent of the bomb's damage. Police officers were combing the rubble as yellow crime scene tape fluttered in the breeze. His heart froze, they'd mentioned Meg Thatcher but not by name.

"Listen, don't ask me how I know, but I do, there are cops headed for the museum right this minute. If those three get pinned down some of these people could get hurt. The bomb looks very real to me. What are we going to do about it?" Gary asked the three Canadians. Meg looked at him confused, as did Turnbull. Only Fraser knew the truth.

"We have to disarm the bomb. They intend to barricade the exits but there has to be another way out of the building," Fraser offered, his eyes scanning the gallery. There were four exits, one on each corner and all in plain sight of the rebels. He scanned the ceiling next.

"The big one may help us. He doesn't seem fully committed to the cause," Meg began, wondering if perhaps she could reason with the one called Yakov. It was the woman, Tina, that concerned Fraser. She had the remote control detonator.

"Could one of us sneak to the trolley and disarm the bomb?" Turnbull wondered aloud.

"That's a good idea. If one of us could distract them another of us could sneak behind the cart." Meg seized the idea.

"Do any of you know how to disarm a bomb, I know I sure don't." Gary asked. The Canadians exchanged glances. Meg and Turnbull both pointed to Fraser.

"Only what I read in a training manual several years ago." Ben toyed with his slightly imperfect eye tooth. Meg watched the tip of his tongue as it played peek-a-boo. Her thoughts strayed from the danger at hand to less appropriate things.

"I was sick that day in the academy." Turnbull shrugged. Meg only rolled her eyes and wondered whose nephew he was to have gotten through the RCMP so easily. He was like Scarecrow from the  _Wizard of Oz_ , brainless. Turnbull and Fraser turned to Meg, their leader.

"You're the one always catching criminals using only what you've got on your person," Meg argued. She'd passed the bomb basics in the academy easily but the thought of actually trying to do it made her weak in the knees.

"We can provide the distraction then," Gary volunteered. That didn't sound any better to Meg than trying to disarm the bomb. Blown to bits or dead from a bullet, she didn't want to die either way. Fraser simply nodded, knowing the danger in his offer. The Mountie looked at the American he'd come to respect and pulled him aside.

"Take care of her for me, Mr. Hobson. She's chosen and it seems it's you," Fraser spoke very low, looking away, toward the stunning woman wearing turquoise.

"Look, she hasn't  _'chosen'_  me." Fraser silenced him with one look. Gary shook his head as he tried to set the Mountie straight. He saw the struggle in the other man's eyes as he turned back.

"You haven't told her how you feel have you?" Fraser shook his head. "Then now is definitely the time to do it, Constable." Gary remembered the way Meg had looked across the foyer to Fraser.

"You're right, Mr. Hobson, now is the time." Ben took a deep breath. He'd rehearsed what he wanted to say to Meg a million times in his head. Diefenbaker had heard it thousands of times. Before his courage could flag, Ben took Meg's hand and pulled her away from Gary and Turnbull. Looking deep into her bottomless, brown eyes as he held her tight the Mountie kissed her cheek and whispered in her ear. When Ben pulled away Meg was speechless, shocked to her core. With a nod to Gary and Turnbull, Ben began a circuitous route toward the serving trolley.

"What are your orders, Sir?" Turnbull spoke first as Meg stood dazed between him and Gary. Meg laid one hand on her pale cheek where Fraser had kissed her. She frowned, confused for a split second.

"Hmm, oh, yes, a distraction." Meg straightened herself up and looked from one man to the other. "What shall it be, a dead faint or an argument?"

"Can you fake a faint?" Gary didn't think it would be very convincing if she tried. Meg didn't strike him as the fainting kind.

"No, not very well," she shrugged, one eye watching Fraser as he gingerly made his way around the gallery. He stopped to talk to the various security personnel and imported Mounties he encountered, telling them the plan as he went. Gary watched her watch him. He wondered what it was the Mountie had whispered in her ear but knew it really wasn't any of his business.

"That dress makes you look fat, Sir," Turnbull began, his words firing like a bullet from a gun. Meg and Gary stared at him. "Just trying to help," the junior Mountie said weakly.

"You can't do anything right, Turnbull." The lady Mountie's voice carried across the whole gallery, drawing the guests attention.

"Now look here, what are you jumping on to him for. You're the one that's too dumb to know the difference between your head and a hole in the ground," Gary broke into the fake argument.

"How dare you!" Meg reached back and slapped Gary across the face, her hand cupped to catch the air and make a loud noise. Still, it startled him. His dark eyes widened as he look down at her. The lady Mountie mouthed, 'sorry'. After a hesitation, Gary took her forearm and began to growl. He winked and she knew he was playing along beautifully so she gave it right back. Turnbull, brainless but with a good heart, took a moment to catch the acting. Instinctively, the junior Mountie took Meg's part. Anton and Yakov came from the center of the gallery where they'd been pressuring Mr. Rogers to unlock the display case. That left Tina holding the detonator and Princess Sibella. The princess heard the loud exchange but couldn't tell what was going on. Other guests began to cluster away from the fight. Looking around, Sibella saw movement coming from one side. She smiled when she saw Fraser easing behind the trolley. He put a silencing finger to his lips and prayed she would turn around so as not to draw Tina's attention. Sibella nodded and turned back around. As silent as a mountain lion, Fraser knelt down on the tile floor and threw the table cloth covering the trolley aside. A brick of plastic explosives with wires connecting it to a travel alarm clock the size of a man's wallet sat on the middle shelf of the stainless steel cart. Bottles of bleach, ammonia, wax stripper, toilet bowl cleaner and other sundry cleaners sat on the bottom shelf. They didn't have to be connected to the explosives to form a dirty bomb. Simply being in such close proximity was enough once the bomb detonated.

Sibella kept sneaking peeks behind her at Fraser as he worked on the bomb wires using a pair of fingernail clippers. Tina watched as Anton and Yakov investigated the ruckus in the back. When she saw the princess looking over her shoulder she turned to see the Mountie kneeling beside the cart. Fraser's gaze met Tina's for a second. Just as she reached for the detonator he clipped the wire. No matter how she pushed the detonator, nothing happened. Tina dropped the electronic box and pulled her weapon. Sibella came around with a left, crashing into the other woman's ear and knocking her off balance with the force of the blow. The lithe princess was stronger than her willowy frame showed. Fraser whistled loudly, the shrill noise carrying over the sound of Gary, Meg and Turnbull's shouting. The security personnel seized Anton and Yakov while Fraser took charge of Tina.

"That was quite a left hook you have, Your Highness," Fraser complimented the young woman.

"Thank you, Constable Fraser. I play tennis three times a week with my parents." Sibella mimicked having a tennis rack in her hands with a smile.

"You must be a very good player." Fraser smiled as he dragged Tina over to her cohorts. The Mounties had volunteered their handcuffs. Anton and Yakov sat hand cuffed on the floor. The Mountie deposited Tina along side them after handcuffing her as well.

"Hey, Benny, what's going on here?" Ray Vecchio's voice cut through the din of guests' voices.

"Ray, hello. These three need to be given their Maranda Rights." Ray looked to Meg Thatcher for an explanation.

"Constable Fraser defused a bomb and saved us all, Detective Vecchio," Princess Sibella answered. "They were trying to steal the Heart of Morenia to return it to the people of our country. While their sentiments were in the right place their methods were very wrong." She spoke slowly in her soft, accented voice. Ray nodded without speaking.

"Alright everyone, stick around here while officers take statements." The detective motioned for two, uniformed officers to escort the suspects to a cruiser.

"What will happen to them, Detective Vecchio?" Sibella asked, concerned.

"That's for the lawyers to sort out, Your Highness. I just cuff 'em and book 'em." Ray shrugged, glad his end of the job wasn't any harder than it already had to be.

********


	14. Ending

_**There is no no pleasure without a tincture of bitterness**_ **.**  

~Hafiz

The gala guests began dispersing as soon as the uniformed officers took their statements. Princess Sibella sought Turnbull out as he waited for Inspector Thatcher to leave the museum.

"I want to thank you, Constable Turnbull for everything you've done for me during my stay in Chicago. I have enjoyed your company immensely." She slipped her hand in his as they lay clasped in front of him. With a smile, the junior Mountie squeezed her fingers.

"It has been my pleasure, Your Highness." He bowed slightly at the waist.

"When it is just the two of us, call me Sibella," she whispered.

"Constable Turnbull, escort the princess to the limo. I'll be out in a moment." Inspector Thatcher's voice interrupted the pair.

"Yes, Inspector," Turnbull responded. He extended his arm for her and began leading her through the remaining guests, toward the limo waiting at the curb.

Tina, Anton and Yakov stood just beyond the museum's entrance waiting for an officer to maneuver a patrol car through the crowded streets. Turnbull and Sibella walked past them but didn't notice the three in the least. Tina saw an opportunity. Seizing the cop's side arm, she pulled away. She began cursing in Croatian. Turnbull turned to see what the fuss was and saw the rebel pointing a gun at the princess. He took Sibella by the waist and at the same time swept her feet from beneath her with is boot. She landed in his arms as the gun fired. The officer had thrust the gun upward, the bullet firing harmlessly in the air. Other officers tackled the cursing woman, wrestling the gun away from her.

Sibella's shocked, sapphire eyes looked up into Turnbull's light blue ones as he held her. She saw the tender look of concern on his features. At a loss for words, she touched one gloved hand to his face. After a long moment Turnbull helped Sibella to her feet and into the limo. He began to close the doors but she motioned him inside the back of the limo.

"I'd feel safer if you'd accompany me." Turnbull climbed into the cavernous car and closed the door behind them.

Blue and red swirling lights illuminated the front of the Chicago Museum of Art. Guests of the gala began collecting their cars and hailing cabs. Meg sent the limo on to the Hilton without her. As the evening wore on and the police gathered pieces for their case a northern wind began to blow across the lake. Standing outside the foyer waiting, Gary slipped out of his suit jacket and put it around Meg's shoulders when she shivered. Her gown was beautiful but not designed for warmth.

"Thank you kindly, Gary." Meg smiled up at him. He laid his hands on her shoulders and ran them gently down her arms. She leaned into his shoulder, grateful for his gentle ways.

"You're welcome, Meg." He let her lean against him, glad to make her feel better. Neither of them spoke for a while as they stood and watched the police go about their investigation.

"You must be getting cold." Meg started to pull his jacket off but he declined it.

"Are you ready to go home?" Gary gently guided her toward the curb where he hailed a cab. Like the southern gentleman of her dreams, Gary walked her to her door, even unlocking it for her.

"I'll call you tomorrow?" Meg asked as she stood in the door way. Gary leaned against the frame, a crooked smile on his handsome face.

"I'd like that." He wondered if she had chosen him over Fraser. She slipped her hand into his before walking into her apartment. He caught a sad smile on her face as the door closed between them.

********

Fraser rode home with Ray. After the adrenaline rush of disarming a bomb he felt like crashing. Still, he couldn't bring his mind to heel. Ben kept seeing Meg smiling at Gary, her hand laying so comfortably on his arm. Then he saw her pained expression as she looked across the foyer at him. Ben had told Meg he loved her but those words only skimmed the surface. He wasn't certain he could adequately express how he felt for her. It was the one shortcoming Ben couldn't shake.

"So, is Thatcher serious about that guy she was with at the museum tonight?" Ray asked bluntly as he cruised down the street past the precinct.

"I wouldn't begin to know, Ray." Fraser's voice sounded old and tired. He stared at the swirling traffic around them.

"Do you think he's serious about her then?" the detective persisted. Fraser just shrugged and continued watching traffic. Ray stopped asking questions. He'd told his friend and told him to tell her before she found someone else. In silence he dropped Ben off and left with a wave. He didn't see the Mountie getting much sleep that night. Ray could sympathize with him, relationships weren't his bag of tricks either.

********

After walking Diefenbaker, the Mountie returned to his small apartment. Sitting at the kitchen table, looking out at the city below and drinking coffee, he felt his furry companion lay his head on his leg. With a sigh, Ben scratched the half-wolf between the ears. As much of a fuss as Dief was, he was the Mountie's best friend. It had been just the two of them for so long. A timid tapping at the door took a minute to bring Ben out of his thoughts. Opening the door he saw the last person he'd ever expect to see at his door-- Meg Thatcher. She still wore her evening gown but beneath her uniform, pea coat. She seemed nervous as she stood outside the door. Ben simply stared at her for a moment, his brain blank.

"May I come in?" She stopped short of calling him by name. Ben stepped aside and motioned for her to come in.

"I know you must be surprised to see me here." Meg looked around the small living space. She saw an almanac calendar on the wall beside the door, a picture of Fraser's father and whom she presumed was his mother on the wall above a worn but clean loveseat. The apartment was sparse to say the least.

"Is there something I can do for you,?" Ben hesitated before calling her by rank or by name. The latter felt awkward.

"Did you mean what you said when you whispered in my ear this evening?" She felt the words welling up like word vomit, coming whether she liked it or not. Ben shoved his hands in his pockets and studied his boots before looking up at her.

"Yes." The one word she hoped he'd say. It took more than usual self-control not to rush to him and throw her arms around his neck.

"I feel the same, for you, Fraser." Meg tried not to stammer. "I'm not good at opening up to people, at letting them see me." She pushed her hands into the navy blue, wool coat's pockets, her eyes never leaving Ben's face. "I don't know the steps to this dance, I never learned." Meg saw a smile pull at his full, firm, lower lip.

"I haven't either," Ben chuckled softly, a full smile spreading across his features.

"Are we too old to learn?" Meg closed the distance between them. Pulling one hand from her pocket she laid it against his cheek. Ben laid his hand over her's and let it's warmth fill him.

"No," Ben answered, pulling her palm to his lips and gently pressing a kiss there. The simple gesture was sweet and unexpected, as if he were leaving her a kiss for later should she need it.

"Which one of us will lead?" It was a valid question, even if it did abuse the metaphor. A relationship is supposed to be a dual undertaking but sometimes someone has to step forward and lead with the beat.

"We can figure it out." Ben slid he hands around her waist beneath the roomy coat. Meg laid her head against his solid chest. She could hear his heartbeat, such a unique sound.

_**The End** _


End file.
